


In a Shattered Sky

by BetweenSkyAndSea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Canon Character of Color, Canon-Typical Racism, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fellatio, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Church Route Spoilers, Grief/Mourning, Jealousy, Political Alliances, Porn With Plot, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Resentment, Rough Oral Sex, Somnophilia, Strained Relationships, Strong Female Characters, Trust Issues, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, dubcon, female initiative, racist microaggressions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetweenSkyAndSea/pseuds/BetweenSkyAndSea
Summary: Why was the Great Unifier of Fódlan standing before him, thousands of miles away from her precious monastery?Post Silver Snow/Church route. Byclaude / Claudeleth
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 162
Kudos: 353





	1. Remember When You Said

Bells jingled as someone entered the tiny shop. He glanced up and felt his heart jump into his throat. He offered a gruff greeting and turned back to his notebook nervously. _Why are you here?_

With catlike stealth he watched her examine the shelves. Maybe the outfit would fool most, but he could never forget those haunting green eyes. Eyes that seemed to glow from within, fueled by a power he’d once yearned to control. The soft tumbles of hair that escaped her hood were dyed. 

She was as expressionless as ever, and didn’t look a day older than the moment they’d met. Caught staring, he turned away to shuffle some books around. She took the opening to approach.

“I’m in need of a potions master,” she said quietly, readjusting the scarf she wore to reveal the lower half of her face. “I was directed to this shop. Are you Kassim?”

He was taken aback--her Almyran grammar and pronunciation was flawless. It was obvious she had been searching for him for a long time. Why?

“Perhaps,” he was just as guarded, studying her as if she were a stranger but his heart was thudding in his chest. Why was the Great Unifier of Fódlan standing before him, thousands of miles away from her precious monastery? “What are you in need of?”

“Your expertise, of course. How much will I owe for an hour of your time?”

Her level of discretion was higher than he’d expected. He flashed a smile, the kind he’d always saved for her. “Just your company. Tea?”

She accepted with a gracious nod. Her pale cheeks had turned a pretty shade of pink--ah, so he still had that pull over her.

“Do me a favor, lock the door?” 

She did as requested, rotating the deadbolt and turning the sign in the window while he pretended to tidy his messy counter. His nerves were getting the best of him but he had to steady his hand. He guided her through a narrow door and up a steep stairway to his room above the shop. With each step they took, his thoughts raced. _Why is she here? How did she find me? How do I get rid of her?_ Poisoning the Great Unifier wasn’t a good look for anyone, but it might prove satisfying.

Kassim welcomed her into the sparse apartment without fanfare. He didn’t have it in him. 

He returned from the tiny kitchen to find her seated at the low table in the center of the room, her voluminous cloak and scarf discarded to reveal dark, plain traveling clothes. She still seemed strong. She looked good. She’d turned on the oil lamps and cleared the table while he’d prepared tea. What a considerate houseguest.

He poured her a cup and draped himself over his chair with casual ease, ignoring the tea he’d poured for himself in favor of watching her. Though he’d been sorely tempted to incapacitate or poison her outright, he was more interested in the reason she was here. What secrets could he glean? 

Her mannerisms were the same as the day they’d first shared tea in the gazebo. She hummed appreciatively, closing her eyes as she savored the taste. There was something comforting and infuriating about it. She had been the very center of turmoil and yet here she was, composed and comfortable. 

He had trusted her once. He hadn’t been sure why, even then.

“Has it really been three years? You look no worse for wear, apart from that hasty dye-job.”

She examined a lock of hair and laughed softly. “I suppose it would’ve been easier to cut it first.”

She hadn’t changed, yet… this person was not the same Byleth he’d met during that sloppy coup Edelgard had attempted in Remire Village. This was not the person who had regularly met him for chess and tea and midnight study sessions in the Garreg Mach library, and certainly and not the person who had chosen to upheave an entire country. With their charming, easygoing aura, this person could be a long lost Alliance cousin. She was… _expressive_. This change was curious to him.

“So how did you find me, anyway?”

“Patience,” she shrugged. “Unraveling rumors. Hoping for a glimpse of you.” A tender look flashed in her eye, and she added, “your tea is growing cold.”

He waved her comment away. “Yeah, who cares. _Why_ are you here?” 

“I’ve need of you, Claude.” The Unifier offered him a gentle, pleading smile, tilting her head to one side. The gesture reminded him of Rhea and he hated it.

Unflinchingly he followed up, “Claude? Can’t say I know where that bastard went. I think he died somewhere around Gronder.”

She winced at his biting answer; moments of silence passed between them. She appeared to lose her taste for tea and pushed the cup aside. Maybe he could get her to leave sooner than later, and leave him to the quiet life he’d carved. 

She folded her hands, prim and proper. She’d really grown into her role, a role he resented and admired her for. “A lot has happened. I can only imagine what you’ve been through.”

“Oh you know, death threats, assassination attempts. Don’t make that sad face at me. I knew what I was getting into when I crawled back over Fódlan’s Throat.”

She cleared her throat and switched back to Fódlanese. “Sorry, my Almyran isn’t good enough to talk politics. I am looking for an advisor.”

“And you thought of this humble potion maker? Why Teach, I’m honored,” he smiled, crossing his legs. He didn’t miss how she’d perked up when he used the old nickname. Too easy.

“I’m in need of a trusted friend, and you’re… I lost everyone.”

He knew. Though he had been on the other side of the continent, he’d used his last vestiges of influence to gather bits and pieces of how the war had flowed. So she’d thought of him, her last tie to the Officers Academy. How kind. 

“You lost everyone,” he repeated slowly, chewing over the words before he chose his own. “So, let me get this straight. I’m a consolation prize after losing everyone else more important to you? Funny, I lost everything.”

She hissed through her teeth as if she’d been stung. Genuine regret was painted on her face; if he’d been in a better place that might soften his heart, but as things were it made him want to twist the knife.

“That isn’t my fault,” she said quietly. 

“This could have been avoided if you’d sided with me.”

“Tsk,” her patient resolve cracked more easily than expected. It had been nothing but a facade after all. Yet she soldiered on. “Claude Von Riegan, I formally invite you to join me as my advisor and con--”

He laughed insultingly halfway through her sentence, and it echoed off the empty walls, sounding much colder than he’d intended. “A _beggars prize_? Might as well lob off my head like you did to Edelg--”

“ _Enough_.”

Her chair scraped awfully on the tile as she stood. And her eyes--those eyes of hers bored into him with a glare that could only be described as predatory.

 _Fuck_ , he’d pissed her off. Half of him was scared shitless. The other half was ready to see how far he could push back before she unleashed hell, and a delightful frisson tingled down his spine. Flirting with danger? His favorite pastime.

He didn’t have a chance to spar back--the lashings came fast and boy did they sting. 

“Why are you still licking your wounds? What is keeping you here? Some foolish pride? Has the man I so admired turned into a coward?”

The laugh that escaped him this time was an awkward, knee-jerk reaction. It seemed she still knew where to sink her teeth into him. 

Still, it seemed she was not dissuaded. With fierce determination in her eyes, she extended a hand and made her proposal for a third and final time.

“I know fate has been cruel, but I never wanted to lose you in the first place. I want you, Claude von Riegan, and no other. Join me.”


	2. Lawless State of Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth must decide what her next course of action is after her original plans are dashed.
> 
> Content warnings: alcohol usage, talk of character death, mentions of gore.

The door slammed shut behind her.

Byleth strode away from ~~Claude~~ Kassim’s shop and dissolved into the bustling marketplace, her face burning with anger and shame. His rejection had been scathingly bitter, mean-spirited in a way she’d never expected from an old friend.

It was hard to stop the tears that rose from turning into a heaving sob, and she swallowed it painfully. An alcove between two shops would provide her the moment of solace she needed. She tugged the hood of her cape low, blocking out the fray so she could focus on pulling herself together. _Breathe_.

Had it been entirely frivolous to come here at all? Yes. 

She’d known when starting the search years ago that any effort spent in finding him entitled her to nothing, absolutely nothing. It might've turned out to be someone else entirely, but… she _had_ to see for herself. 

Some of her fondest Academy memories were with the former Alliance heir. Unlike most of the other students of noble descent, he didn’t seem to mind she was rough around the edges. They shared a thirst for strategy and a deep curiosity, spending many afternoons playing chess or pouring over tomes in the library. So what if most of the books _she_ read were about the ecology of rivers and streams? It was companionable time spent together. Now being a little older and wiser, she knew that kind of relationship was rare.

Had she hoped he would gleefully jump into her arms and accept? Of _course_.

Finding some calm, she stared absently at her dusty boots. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks, she perceived he hadn’t been sleeping _or_ eating well. Also missing was his infamously careful grooming routine, replaced by a strange unkempt beard, long hair with braids woven throughout, badly worn clothing. It was likely part of his disguise since he’d gone into hiding, but… how much of it was the disguise?

Had she expected any rejection to be quite that callous? No.

It was the final break with her past and it broke her unbeating heart. 

She hated crying, but it was especially bothersome when the tears were for someone who apparently didn’t want her effort. With a final sigh she wiped the moisture away, spending a moment to readjust her scarf and hood before reentering the crowd.

It dawned on Byleth that she was essentially a nobody in a foreign country with spare time on her hands. Now she'd gotten her answer, she would be leaving tomorrow, so may as well have a beer (or three) and see what kinds of exotic specimens she could pull up from the river. Her favorite pastime.

A bucket of bottled beer and a pouch of wriggling bait were all she needed to entertain herself for an afternoon. Of _course_ she’d packed a rod, even if it was only a flimsy collapsible thing. She meandered back to the spot she’d tied up her wyvern, and with a few strong wingbeats, crested over the small trading town.

The red rocks and low scrub she glided over were pretty typical of Alymra. Once he'd mentioned he didn’t know how to climb trees, which had baffled her. After seeing the harsh landscape with her own eyes, she finally understood. 

A river glittered in the distance. Her wyvern landed a short distance away from a fellow fisherman. As she dismounted, they nodded at each other across the water in greeting, an unspoken fisherman's pact. 

She settled into a comfortable spot on the bank, kicking off her boots and rolling up her pants so she could wade among the reeds and into the shallows. Her toes sunk into the mud and smooth gravel and it felt _great_. She plucked a fat worm from her bait pouch, baited the hook and set it adrift in the gentle current, finally anchored her fishing pole in the mud. Time to crack open one of these beers.

The first mouthful of bitter ale was relaxingly nostalgic. 

Ah, yes. Taking the afternoon like this had been the right choice. Maybe she’d even get drunk tonight.

Confronting ~~Claude~~ Kassim had reopened wounds she didn’t realize were still so tender.

At least she had people she saw every day, people she trusted to work towards Fódlan’s future. Seeing firsthand the somber situation he’d carved out for himself, she sensed that he had few people he could call on. Three years was such a long time to be without a kindly face. 

Something splashed at the surface of the water. _Drat_! A sneaky fish had stolen the bait while she was ruminating. Baiting her hook again, she patiently waited for the next one, actively angling for something this time.

She missed her students and fellow professors--no, they had become her friends.

...Did she have the right to miss them? 

_Father_. The pain of losing him was still sharp, and she would forever curse Edelgard for being an accessory to his murder.

The bait pouch grew thin. Quite a few unusual fish found a temporary home in her bucket. Some were colorful, some were drab. She watched them swim round and round, letting her mind wander in time with their frantic pace. Once her curiosity was satisfied, she gently poured each fish back into the river.

Her fishing quest was complete when the last piece of bait earned her a fat Almyran trout. She appreciated the different colors and markings on her wiggling catch. It would make a fine afternoon meal.

Retreating from the water’s edge to sit in the shade of her sunning wyvern’s wings, Byleth started a small fire to roast her prize. After cleaning the fish, she sprinkled it inside and out with generous amounts of salt, pepper and a smokey spice she’d discovered early on in her travels through Almyra.

Byleth sipped another beer and let her mind dance with the flames. She still didn’t remember much of anything from her life before the Academy. But her memories of everyone she'd met while teaching were so vivid. All those bright faces. It was her fault they--

Her mind went numb.

She stared at the flames until her wyvern nosed her shoulder, breaking her from the trance she’d fallen into. The trout was on the verge of being overcooked. She smiled gently at the beast, patting it on the snout. “Aw thanks buddy. I’ll save some for ya.” 

Byleth barely waited for it to cool before she plucked the meat with her bare hands. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was--the fish was gone in no time. She savored the fatty, crispy skin with her last beer and burped grotesquely in satisfaction. The sound carried over the water and bounced back to her ears.

If he’d been here, she knew Linhardt would have tsked her poor manners in jest, and she would’ve given him a deadpan stare before they both started laughing. 

But ~~Rhea~~ the Immaculate One had taken Linhardt’s carefree smile away with a swipe of her fiendish claws.

There had been nearly nothing left of him to bury.

Her face crumpled. Those fucking tears were back. She let them out this time, along with her ugly sobs. It was worth crying for the one she had truly loved. 

She cried until the first stars of dusk were twinkling in the lavender sky. Time to return to her accommodations. She tossed the trout’s head and bones to her wyvern and poured a bucketful of water over the glowing embers of her little campfire.

A shabby tavern on the edge of town had been her home base for the past few days. It was rowdy but she was no stranger to that life.

She slid a few small coins on the counter and ordered a giant stein of red Almyran ale from the handsome lady barkeep. The strong, malty beer had quickly become a favorite during her time here. Whenever Fódlan managed to broker a proper trade agreement with Almyra, Byleth knew this beer would be the first thing _she_ imported.

People came and went, and Byleth watched it all from the comfort of a high table tucked in the back corner. They were meeting friends, laughing, living their lives. She rather liked the gregarious people here. She would miss being around them, even as an observer. It was still too early to see the results of much of her work, but perhaps the people of Fódlan would be this open and warm with each other someday. 

As the amount of ale dwindled, a foolish hope took root. What if Claude stepped through the doors with his debonair self, and took up the seat across from her with an apology, a wink and a smile?

...What kind of bullshit storybook happy ending had her brain concocted? 

By the time she drained the stein, it was obvious that nothing of the sort was going to happen.

With a warm belly, unsteady legs and a glow to her cheeks, she tottered upstairs to her room, eager to take off her heavy cloak and too-warm scarf, perhaps relax in the bath. She lodged the key in the lock and sighed, leaning her forehead against the door. 

Perhaps it had been too presumptuous of her to come here at all. But she had said her piece, he had rejected her, and that was that. 

She threw off her scarf as she entered and twisted the key in the door behind her, but instead of a relaxing feeling, Byleth’s hackles raised.

She was not alone.

Someone had come in through the small window--the smell of woodsmoke and roasted meats from the busy restaurant next door had drifted in with them. Underneath her cloak her hand fell to the hilt of her father’s dagger, and she listened while she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. 

That someone made the bed _creak_.

By instinct she threw the dagger into the shadows, and it struck the wall hollowly. A voice yelled back in surprise.

She _knew_ that voice.

She flicked the light switch and found ~~Claude~~ ~~Kassim~~ Claude? sitting on her bed.

A perfectly groomed, perfectly healthy looking specimen of the man she'd met with this morning sat on the small bed. 

“I should’ve known better than to taunt the Ashen Demon,” he said sheepishly. With a turn of his wrist he dislodged the blade from where it had landed, inches from his right eye socket. 

“Y- _you,”_ Byleth uttered dumbly--shocked by his presence but also respectful of his identity here. She didn’t want to get him killed if someone overheard their scuffle… but her only weapon was now in his hands and he seemed unhinged. 

“You were easier to find than I expected,” he said unprompted, examining the blade closely. He flashed a dangerous look over the sharpened edge, then smirked and pushed to his feet. “Bit disappointing.”

Byleth scowled. Her scabbard was on the table but reaching for it would leave her open, and this Claude was a wildcard. She prepared for a knife at her throat, wondering if she’d be fast enough to grab his wrist but knowing her odds were low if he slashed at her. 

Those sea-glass eyes of his were icy. Then he _smiled_. Radiant, charming, no hint of resentment--a flashback to their Academy days. 

The ease with which he switched masks made her feel a little ill. Had he always been like this? Had she never noticed, or had she forgotten?

“I must say I do prefer having the upper hand,” he glanced over her as he approached, then pressed in close, “but in the end we’re just using each other, aren’t we?”

“Honestly Teach, it means a lot that you came back for your little Golden Deer,” he purred in her ear. The words were powerful and his breath was hot. A frustrated whimper escaped her, and it sounded lewd. 

“Ah, you want me?” he licked the shell of her ear to goad her on, obviously delighted.

She hadn’t been touched like this in _so_ long and this frustrating, handsome man--

Before she realized what she was doing she caught him by the throat with a gloved hand, pushing him at arms length.

“I still trust you,” he groaned, peering down at her through those thick lashes of his. He was turning red yet made no move to pull away. “Don’t know if I _like_ you...”

 _Rude_. Her grip tightened and the dagger clattered to the ground. He knew _just_ how to rile her up. Against her better instincts, it was working. 

Claude’s hands rose to cover hers but he did not claw her fingers away. Then he smirked.

 _What the fuck?_ She exhaled hotly and let him go, feeling a boiling passion of emotions she couldn’t fully put to words.

“Don’t waste my time,” she hissed, stooping to retrieve her father’s dagger. It slipped easily back into the sheath at her hip as she stood. 

Byleth stared him down while he coughed and recomposed himself. She considered his behavior since she’d arrived. So he changed his mind after being so cruel to her, but his apology--if you could call _this_ an apology--wasn’t much better. Did she really want this man in her life in any capacity?

Yet Byleth’s worry was far stronger than any doubt or annoyance. The thought of him dying at _all_ was gut-wrenching. _I can’t lose another. I can’t lose Claude._

He’d stoked the fire of her temper back to an inferno.

“Are you coming with me or not?” Byleth demanded. “I refuse to play any more games with you.” 

The smile he gave her was infuriatingly _exquisite_.

“I’m all yours. Look forward to working with ya, Teach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel terrible for Byleth, she's really going through it. OTOH I feel very "GIRL *WHAT* ARE YOU DOING" 👀💦


	3. Sinking into the Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Byleth get reacquainted with one another while they travel through Almyra to Garreg Mach. Upon arriving at the monastery, the former Alliance leader is up to his old tricks in no time. Finally, they negotiate a marriage contract and touch upon future plans.

“What are you waiting for?” Byleth extended a gloved hand to Claude. “Get on the wyvern.”

With the moonlight painting her and a bright glow reflecting in her green eyes, she looked the part of a Goddess. A shiver went down his spine; was it from the cold gusts of wind that blew across the plain or the thrill of being near such an enigma? Didn’t matter. He decided on the latter. 

Claude swung up and slotted himself in the spot behind her. Oh noOoo, were their bodies too close?

Byleth made a dismayed noise when he put his arms around her. Perhaps _she_ hadn’t thought this plan through, as squirmy as she was against his torso. Heh. He absolutely didn’t mind any of this.

The chill intensified as the wyvern climbed higher and higher. The town he’d spent almost a year fading into was becoming but a spot on the landscape below. 

“I should’ve kept the beard while we were traveling,” he complained. 

“...I don’t miss it,” she said flatly.

“Ouch, Teach.” He nuzzled into her hair for an extra bit of warmth and she tensed up again. He laughed. 

She mostly smelled like whatever she’d used to dye her hair this nostalgic dark blue color. He could probably figure out a solution of some kind to neutralize it if given the chance, but Byleth was cranky and self-conscious about their proximity, and he didn’t want to be flung to his death from the back of a wyvern for merely _suggesting_ something. That was a little _too_ much danger, even for him. 

Loaded down with a heavy trunk full of books and their two bags of clothing, it was only a few hours until Byleth’s wyvern started showing signs of fatigue. They settled on a hill above a river bank just as the sun was coming up. On their descent, Claude saw nothing but scrub, rocks and dirt. No roads, no signage, no human-built structures of any sort. They were solidly in the middle of nowhere. 

“This is gonna be a long journey, huh.”

“A few days, at least.”

“Let’s hope we don’t kill each other first.”

She did _not_ find that funny, and ignored him entirely for the next half hour.

Byleth was more subdued than when she first found him, in fact it was a little difficult to get her to say much of anything. He tempered his energy to match. She offered him dried meat and fruit from her pack to break their fast. He built a small fire and boiled water for tea. They ended up huddling against her wyvern’s warm belly and all three napped until the sun grew too hot for comfort. Revitalized, the wyvern bobbed and pecked for fish in the river before they took back to the skies. 

The arms of night drew close again, turning the sky a gentle shade of pink and purple. Time to find dinner. The quiet, sedentary life he’d led for the past few years had left his reflexes disappointingly rusty, but Byleth was pleased when he came back with a rabbit. She had caught a large Almyran white fish, and they made a fine dinner of it.

After they’d eaten their fill, her wyvern was gifted the bones and other bits they hadn’t eaten. As it crunched away, Byleth retrieved her bedroll and was extremely awkward about it, hugging the thing to her torso like a child clutching a teddy bear.

She looked at Claude, looked at the fire, looked at the space on the ground between, before announcing, “We have to share.” 

He tipped his head back to present her with a smouldering grin. “I’m happy to keep you warm, Teach.”

“No! That’s not what I--! Ugh.”

She laid it out and trudged around it gingerly, removing her boots and refusing to make eye contact. She crawled under the covers and laid there like a log. “Okay,” was all she said, her voice stifled.

Riding wyvernback had been but a preview; Claude was delighted to discover just how neatly her body slotted against his as they spooned to fit. Byleth had been awkward with touch from the moment she’d reappeared, but he rested his elbow on her hip and tucked his hand against her belly with no protests. When she enfolded her fingers between his he felt especially pleased.

Claude whispered in Almyran, “Goodnight, Byleth.”

He could _hear_ the blush in her voice when she answered in kind, “Goodnight, Claude.”

They traveled like this for another three days, finally arriving at Garreg Mach at a disorienting hour. By the chill in the air, he guessed the sun would not rise for many more yet. 

Byleth’s wyvern called out a half dozen times, circling above what he placed as the reception hall. The monastery bells began to toll in response, and a bevy of attendants emerged to light torches on the terrace below as Byleth guided the lazily gliding wyvern to land.

Claude slipped from the saddle first. The damp chill was unforgiving and he couldn’t stop shaking under his coat--the thinly padded garment was made for a dry Almyran winter, not this bone-chilling awfulness. Byleth had been so soft and _warm_ , he wished he could cling to her all the way into the building.

The air still had that musty moss and stone smell. It was something he hated when he started at the academy but now he was back, it was nostalgic.

He took a few strides into the center of the terrace and looked around quizzically. “Where… are we? I don’t think I’ve been to this part of the monastery.”

It was a lie. He’d been almost everywhere in this damn complex. 

“Top floor of the reception hall. My quarters and this terrace are all that are up here. Rhea really isolated herself.”

“Got it.” That answered one of his questions. Claude filed the information away for later. 

He unstrapped their leather travel packs from the wyvern’s flanks, while a couple of attendants tried to wrestle with the heavy trunk of his.

“Thank you, but I can take that,” Byleth said. She bickered politely with the attendants. It was charming. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, approaching to give her a hand himself. “The weight of my worldly treasures is--”

She took the awkwardly sized trunk from the two struggling aids with ease, bracing it against her hips. “Not bad. Claude? Grab the other bags. Follow me.”

Damn. He wondered if she could lift him so easily. As they walked he multiplied the number of books in the trunk by the approximate weight of each… oh. Oh yeah. She could lift him and then some. Nice.

They wound down a flight of stairs to the second floor of the building, stopping in front of a particular door. She eased the trunk to the ground and sorted through a small ring of keys. “This is Seteth’s former apartment. Do with it what you wish,” she paused, then added, “it’s the largest room in the monastery apart from mine.”

“Hmm.”

She was trying to convince herself of something. She swung the large door open with ease, turned on the light, then lifted the trunk into his new quarters with little effort.

The air was stale and a thin layer of dust coated most surfaces. But she’s right, there was plenty of room for all of his books and his various equipment, and whatever else made its way into his collection. 

Byleth stared at the bare desk for a moment too long. 

He stepped beside her, placing a hand at the small of her back. “Teach?”

Knocked out of her thoughts, she turned to him with a soft smile.

“I want you close,” she said wistfully. He watched her struggle with the desire to say or do _something_ but didn’t press her. She was obviously tender about whatever transpired between herself and Seteth.

From her energy he could tell she wanted comfort. He wasn’t sure what kind or how to give it. 

“Sure, whatever you want,” he tried, mirroring her tone. 

That did the trick. Her eyes were warm with gratitude. “Let me help you unpack.”

“No way,” he scoffed, pivoting away from her. “It’s like four in the morning, I’m not unpacking until I have a nap.” It was like he could see the gears grinding behind those great big eyes of hers. “Aren’t you exhausted?” he followed up.

Byleth shook her head as if the ring of a bell had knocked her out of a trance.

“Oh. Right. Ok. There should be linens somewhere around here,” she said, and toddled off to find them. These were small things he could figure out himself, but he appreciated the care she put into settling him in. She threw one half of the sheet set at his chest and together they made short work of dressing the bed. 

“Ahh, blissful sleep on a real bed.” Claude wrapped his arms around Byleth, nuzzling in as closely as he had while they were on her wyvern. “Stay with me tonight, Teach.”

“Ugh. We both stink of travel. And I need alone time.” She fended him off with a neatly placed elbow to the ribs and placed the key on the desk with an irritated clank before she made her retreat. He couldn’t help but push her _just_ a bit more. 

“So what you’re _saying_ is--”

“ _Goodnight_ , Claude.”

His smile faded as quickly as the door clicked shut. He kicked off his boots and pulled his tunic over his head. Ugh, he really did smell. Before he tried the bathroom, he padded around his new quarters, exploring every shelf and every drawer, rapping his knuckles on every panel in the search for hidden storage compartments.

Seteth really had no tangible things to hide? Meh. That dude had definitely been carrying secrets.

The bathroom was spacious. The clawfoot tub was complete with a shower head and big enough for two. A new puck of soap and a stack of giant fluffy towels had been left in a basket next to it.

Indoor plumbing was an absolute luxury after the life he’d led the past few years, and he was grateful. 

He peeled off his traveling clothes and left them in a heap on the floor. The water turned hot quickly and the pressure was to his liking. But no shampoo or conditioner? He’d have to place a request with a merchant later for the kind he was after--he was not going to use soap on his precious locks. He rinsed his hair anyway (better than nothing) and attempted to relax under the stream.

It turned out that Being As Nice As Possible to Byleth for the past few days had been draining. Something was up with the Great Unifier. He needed more time to figure her out.

...Claude entertained the thought of figuring out her body; one soapy hand began to idly caress his thickening cock, the other tugged on his balls. Byleth’s proximity had aroused him every night of their journey to Garreg Mach, inciting a passion he couldn’t act on. Was Byleth spending her alone time the same way he was spending his? He imagined Byleth soaped up in the shower with him, her soft breasts pressed against his side as she pumped the length of him. He imagined capturing her lips in a kiss--

A husky whimper escaped him; he’d spilled his seed over his palm and between his fingers before he was able to walk himself back from the edge of orgasm.

 _Fuck_. He stared at his pulsing cock in betrayal as the shower pounded over his back. Byleth made him weak. For all his intelligence and scheming, at the end of the day he was just a horny, horny virgin.

He soaped up again before he rinsed his frustration away, then crashed onto his bed clad in nothing but a towel. The shower had done its job better than expected and sleep came to him easily.

Little by little, dappled, diffused light brightened the room. He ignored it for as long as possible. Fighting it was no use. Claude rolled to one side, groaned at the looming obligation of his unpacked luggage and decided to put it off for another time. 

He _did_ however need to get dressed and shave, and rifled through the garment bag for a set of clean clothes and his shave kit. As he went through his grooming ritual he thought of the future.

Byleth’s arrangement would comfortably elevate his status with little work; securing the Almyran throne didn’t feel as impossible as it had just a week ago. How fortuitous. Perhaps within a year or two he would be able to negotiate with his parents and they could open the border between Fódlan and Almyra.

Claude was still impressed Byleth had taught herself conversational Almyran. It would undoubtedly impress his parents as well, and he would be able to help her expand her vocabulary to become as fluent as she desired. Her cute accent didn’t hurt.

Miss Unifier’s companionship would merely be a secondary benefit. Time to find her.

 _These halls_. He padded along the corridor with mild disbelief. How was it that hardly anything had changed? He notices each office is occupied by someone, but does not stop to introduce himself to anyone. He’d come to know them all in time.

Just by her nature, he figured she’d be working when she should be resting. To get to what he assumed would be her office, he’d have to pass through the audience chamber where Rhea once loomed over guests. He could see that one of the tall doors to the former Archbishop’s office was propped open. He hovered in front of the audience chamber and pretended to examine the owl roosting above, focusing on his hearing.

Sure enough, he overheard Byleth delegating a task.

Claude smiled up at the owl. _Great_!

He strode into the reception room like he owned the place. Byleth’s aid exited the office and he gave them a curt smile and nod as they passed, much to their confusion. 

Claude stood in the doorway to her office and observed her for a moment. She was alone and utterly absorbed in her work. Her morning shower had faded most of the dye from her hair, leaving it a dull gray. He kind of missed the dark color--it reminded him of when they met.

A pot of tea long forgotten and a plate of untouched buttered toast was perched on the side nearest the door, so he decided to help himself.

He continued to watch her as he sipped from the delicate teacup without a sound. Some cloying blend of colonizer tea. Bleh. Still, he drained and replaced it without so much as a clink. Man, she wasn’t aware of his presence at _all_.

“Teach.”

She yelped lightly and he laughed.

“Heh, sorry. Didn’t get any sleep either?”

“Sleep eludes me these days,” she smiled in that odd Rhea-way he detested. 

He crunched into one piece of toast and held the other at her lips. “Not eating won’t help, so eat.”

Baffled by the unexpected toast, she ate it with both hands, savoring it like it was the best thing in the world. _Cute_. 

“We will negotiate the terms of our union today,” she said when she finished the toast, reaching for her teacup only to find it empty. She set it down with mild confusion, but continued, “I’ve scheduled a witness to meet us here at eleven o’ clock.”

All business. He was fine with that. He glanced at the clock on her desk. He had some time.

“Noted. Allow me,” mustering up his most perfect manners, Claude poured her a cup. It was so over-steeped it was as dark as coffee.

“Thank you, Claude.” Byleth took a long sip and didn’t complain, though he knew it must be cold and bitter. So this was how she operated normally--there was something sad about it. “Please enjoy yourself until then. I’ve released many rare volumes from the restricted archive into the main library collection.” 

“That is _very_ tempting. And thoughtful, thank you,” he purred, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear in a loving gesture. “Though perhaps you and I can peruse them together?” 

Byleth’s eyes sparkled. “I’d like that.”

It was so easy to say the right thing to her, he almost felt guilty. He patted her shoulder before leaving. “See you later.”

Back in the hallway, he headed for the stairwell and climbed to the third floor. There had always been a large escort of knights on patrol when Rhea was in charge. To his delight, only one guard was present, and they were slow on their patrol loop. This was _perfect_.

After getting the timing down, Claude scampered to the large doorway and picked the lock to Rhea’s Byleth’s apartment. It took a couple tries, but he knew from experience that no lock he’d come across at the monastery was unpick-able. As long as no one was watching, he had free reign to indulge in discovering secrets of all kinds. 

He slipped inside and turned the lock behind him. 

Claude was giddy with wonder about what he might find--this had originally been Rhea’s quarters, after all. 

The room was large and lavishly appointed, with swaths of expensive woven fabrics and upholstered furniture in a style he recognized from his grandfather’s estate, but even more elaborate. It made him furious that Rhea had squandered money to live like a queen when she’d ruined the lives of countless people with her bullshit religion. 

However, the four-poster bed looked like it would be fun to fuck in. He smirked, wondering when he and Byleth might--

Ok, ok, ok. Enough of that. Time to get to work.

Bookshelves flanked each side, a large fireplace and some reading chairs. Cozy. If he had all the time in the world he’d crack open every book and flip through every page, but time was of the essence and he needed to find the good stuff.

The good stuff was probably in a concealed compartment, box or chest of some sort. _Possibly_ the drawer of her writing desk, but that would be too obvious. ...Wouldn’t it?

Eh. His own doubt made him check it anyway. The shallow drawer was full of unused papers, fountain pen nibs, ink and envelopes. A thoroughly marked-up notebook was also stored inside, as well as a thick volume on the Almyran language. Nothing else of note.

He peeked under the bed next. Nothing but dust. Not even a lost sock?

Claude pressed his palms and fingertips against every inset wood panel along the base of the built-in bookshelves, testing for movement, looking for strange seams. Nothing there either.

The next likely candidate was a large, polished rosewood box perched on one of the shelves, which was unlocked and turned out to be full of Rhea’s old jewelry. Why hadn’t Byleth thrown this away? He paused in his hunt to glance around the room. How much of the stuff in here was actually Rhea’s? 

He whistled softly, clutching the box close to his chest as he crossed the room. Moments later Claude unceremoniously upended it on Byleth’s bed and everything poured out with a slithering, glittering clatter. 

Though it was now empty, he shook the hell out of it anyway. He must’ve looked ridiculous.

A-ha. There was the shuffle of a mass of papers and the dull clunk of something more--maybe a book? 

This thing had a false bottom but it wasn’t budging. He tried the sharp, narrow edge of one of his lockpicks along the interior edge, trying to ease the panel upwards without damaging it.

It was good and stuck.

“C’mon, gimmeeee.” 

For his next attempt he set the box on its side on the floor, and used moderate force with his heel to give it a stomp in the hope of dislodging the panel. 

...And just like that, the wood panel of the false bottom clattered onto the floor, along with a small number of letters, a worn leather journal and a small leather pouch. A wide grin spread over his face. This was certainly _something_.

He sat cross legged on the floor like a child playing with their brand new birthday gifts to examine all his findings. 

Claude scanned the first letter he picked up. He realized these were Byleth’s possessions--this was a letter from Jeralt while he’d been posted on one of his missions away from the monastery. 

This was certainly a win. Learning more about Rhea was merely satiating his own curiosity, but Byleth was someone he could actively manipulate to reach his goals. 

Out of the number of letters she’d kept, only a few retained his interest.

The first, a heartfelt confession from Dimitri. He poured over every line of flowery prose with a gleeful purse of his lips. How scandalous! He wondered if Byleth acted on it. A bittersweet pang bloomed in his chest as he remembered his own precious time spent with the Holy Prince of Faerghus. 

Second was the letter _he_ had sent her during the war, offering aid. She’d kept it. There was a heady, arousing power in the knowledge she’d been thinking about him for years. He could certainly use any lovelorn feelings of hers to his advantage.

Third, a letter she’d sent to… him, only a few years ago by the date stamp, but marked “undeliverable” in bright red. He’d left the Alliance and Fodlan by that point. This was the most intriguing thing so far. It was still sealed and he ached to know what the contents were. It would be easy to steam it open and reseal it before returning it, so he pocketed it. It would make for an entertaining distraction.

The leather pouch held an elegant silver ring inlaid with blue stones. He tried it on all his digits; it only fit on the last joint of his pinky finger.

Ah, the journal. A childhood memoir perhaps? He read the first few entries and his eyes grew wide. “...This is Jeralt’s,” he said excitedly to himself. 

A few more entries in, and Claude realized this was much, much better than anything he could have imagined. He dared to linger on each entry, pausing to re-read and commit to memory the juiciest details. There was much here to use. 

He’d uncovered enough treasure for today. He put everything back, and the false bottom was replaced with a few firm taps of a heavy candlestick. When Claude was satisfied it wouldn’t pop out easily, he swept all that gaudy jewelry back in. It looked an even worse mess than when he’d found it. Oh well. _Not_ his finest job.

Gingerly he placed it back on the shelf where it came from, angling it just so. He glanced at a small clock ticking on the shelf above. Ten minutes 'till their meeting. Time to check in with his future boss and uh... spouse. Sign some paperwork. 

\--

“No. You can’t have one without the other,” Byleth held firm, staring Claude down. 

As per her offer, in addition to his future position as her advisor, _consort_ had been proposed and now they were negotiating a prenuptial agreement.

It was going… well, it was going.

Byleth had _tried_ to make it a casual affair by having the signing at the small seating area in her office. But she was sitting primly in the center of the settee, her back straight and her hands folded in her lap. The opposite of casual.

Claude had been all for the casual approach, and was comfortably slouched on the other settee, arms behind his head, ankles propped up on the corner of the narrow table between them.

The Almyran prince pushed back on almost every clause, trying to sift through and find any weaknesses she had, but also for the hell of it. Arguing for the sake of arguing. You had to make your own fun.

“This reduces me to a piece of property,” he said in mild disgust, tossing the offending page back onto the pile in the middle of the table.

“What do you think the tradition of marriage is? It’s a fundamentally flawed system that favors one party over the other. Are you upset because you don’t have the upper hand on paper?” Byleth shot back. “I don’t intend to treat you as anything but an equal.”

Actually, he didn’t mind the wording of the arrangement in the slightest. He enjoyed the passion she had for everything she did.

“Fine,” he said with a barely concealed smirk, and picked up his discarded pen to initial that particular page.

Next came the discussion of what he would be entitled to, what he was not, what his role would be in the case of Byleth’s incapacitation or death (he would be stripped of power without her); there were enough details to make his head spin.

He _almost_ made a joke about lightly poisoning her for an occasional burst of excitement in their future relationship but decided it was in poor taste while in mixed company, so held his tongue and signed off on the last of the paperwork obediently.

“I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding,” Byleth said tiredly, passing off the paperwork to their witness to sign, seal and file away. She thanked and dismissed them. They closed the door behind them meekly, leaving Claude and Byleth to sort themselves out. 

“A tailor will be here to take your measurements tomorrow morning. Choose what makes you feel your best. Do you have any requests for the ceremony? Guests you’d like to invite?”

“Suddenly I have _choices_? You’re being awfully kind to your political captive,” Claude snarked.

An exasperated Byleth traded seats so she could be near him; he made room for her. She settled beside him with her knees curled up, one arm on the back of the seat so she could look at him. “I’m being serious, Claude. I want...”

She went quiet, settling into a thousand yard stare that went right through him. It took a gentle caress to bring Byleth back to the present. 

“I want you to be happy,” she said, turning her bleary eyes up to his. “I want to see the world you’ve dreamt about and stand beside you when you do it.”

She spoke with such conviction about seeing his ambition through that he felt a warm thrum of pride. He let himself linger in the feeling for only a moment more before he continued to press her for a real answer.

“But what do _you_ want?”

“Haa… I don’t-- I--”

She made an unholy sound and started to sob. He caught her in his arms and held her to his chest. She howled and heaved for a long time, leaving large, wet tear stains on his chest.

This was a deep grief. Had she shared it with anyone else? It was insensitive, but he didn’t want to deal with it.

But when Byleth pleaded, “Can you make a potion to heal a broken heart?” his resolve started to crack. 

“I would if I could,” Claude humored, smiling softly at his companion. She laughed a little, wiping her tears away with the heel of her palm. “But I’ll listen to anything you say.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t burden you. You’re kind.”

“I’m not kind at all, Byleth,” he admitted quietly with no trace of his usual mirth or petty callousness, stroking her hair. “Anything you want to share with me is not a burden.”

Claude nosed her cheek; he couldn’t stop himself from offering simple human closeness to someone who was hurting. Byleth relaxed in his arms and he felt… odd. Warm? He held her for a long time; she nuzzled in close. He pressed a kiss to her brow and felt... good about it. It had been a long time since he had shared so many small affections with someone. 

A knock came at the door.

“Oh. My meeting... “ Byleth raised her head at the sound; he discovered that her lips and cheeks were deliciously flushed.

“...I need to get back to work, and you need to get settled into your office.” Byleth said.

Long pale lashes obscured her emerald irises tantalizingly; he could feel the intensity of her gaze on his lips. The air felt charged, as if they were being pushed together by an invisible force. Claude hesitated, wondering if he should--

Another knock, impatient this time.

“Of course,” was the only reply he could muster. Fuck. He should have gone for it, but the moment had dissolved into the ether.

He left her office brandishing ruddy cheeks and a churning heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure I can keep this pace of writing up but I hope you enjoyed this 4.7k chapter. Still not sure how I blasted through this many words since I've been feeling poorly the past few days??? I guess I love them too much. I tried my best to keep the action moving forward. 
> 
> ...this romantically inept, horny man makes me laugh SO MUCH. He tries his best lolll.


	4. Reaching Out for Someone's Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you hear the toll of wedding bells on the horizon?
> 
> Claude's behavior begins to wear on Byleth, and she isn't having it. 
> 
> Mistakes were made.

In the days following his arrival, Claude worked tirelessly beside her. 

His bright energy and hard work was more than she deserved, and his perspective and dedication were refreshing. He would even bicker with her to take tasks off her plate to delegate further down the chain, and she felt truly pampered. Her workload was suddenly halved, and her staff loved his amicable nature. She was sure she’d made the right choice in making him her advisor. 

Byleth noticed he was more warm during work hours--none of his sharp-tongued teasing or odd comments. She was grateful he kept himself in check.

Wedding preparations were in full swing. Each morning she would receive updates from the aid she’d put in charge of organizing the event, and it was a joy. Her chest did sting--she knew in her heart of hearts that Flayn’s exuberance would have made her the perfect person to organize an event like a wedding, but her foolish leadership had…. nevermind.

The young man she’d put in charge of the wedding was about the same age as Flayn once appeared, and he was just as excited as Flayn would have been. Byleth and Claude’s wedding outfits had been measured for and ordered, their rings were being readied. Invitations had been sent, and the rest of the details were set to fall into place. It was a huge relief.

It was unexpectedly difficult to get close to Claude outside of work. He kept to himself. Though she was always frank, she had become incredibly shy. Years alone had made both of them awkward. He seemed content with the library’s unquestioning solitude, and her own social skills were in disarray.

She put different rare books in circulation, knowing Claude would read them. Of course, she’d read them all long before she’d even thought of prying him from Almyra. 

Some days his excitement over a certain topic he’d ‘discovered’ about spilled over into casual conversation and for a brief moment she felt a connection with him, like an old spark had rekindled. But just as quickly those moments dissipated. 

After working up the courage to extend an invitation, Byleth felt like a giddy teenager when he accepted accompanying her to afternoon tea--it was the first time they’d take a meal together since he’d been back at the monastery. She tried to ignore how sad that was.

She had prepared his favorite tea and was eager to chat about anything and everything, but when the conversation did not flow, Byleth felt confused. He was guarded and grating. Perhaps he was having a bad day. 

As he offered nothing to the conversation, she honed in on the subject of their upcoming wedding. Why wouldn’t she be excited? It might be a marriage of convenience rather than love, but this was not unusual for people in their position. He could learn to love her, right?

“Oh! Did you invite Judith?” she asked brightly. His hesitation made her follow up, “...Have you told her you’re back in Fódlan?”

Claude groaned. 

“What do you mean, ‘ugh’? She put her life on the line for us more than once. The least you could do is send a letter.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to disappoint her yet, that’s all. Who are you inviting?”

“Don’t deflect,” Byleth huffed. She decided to send Judith a letter herself, then continued, “You’re not a disappointment. You should invite her, she would be proud of you.”

A brief expression of surprise crossed his face and just as quickly washed away. Byleth had to wonder, did he really think so lowly of himself? 

In the time he’d returned, Byleth had relearned his microexpressions. His small tics, giveaways of how he really felt. Dimitri hadn’t been equipped with the proper skills to decipher them, always taking Claude at face value, and Edelgard had distrusted Claude _because_ of them, but Byleth had always been intrigued. She was no pro--she had been just as gullible as Dimitri at first.

“I’ve invited Dedue, Felix and Ferdinand.” Byleth revealed, feeling hopeful and excited about seeing her longtime allies. She could only hope they would show up.

Dedue had been kind to her but his true loyalty had been to Dimitri. Sometimes there were months between responses, but the contents of Dedue’s letters were always warm.

Felix… had not sent a single reply to _any_ of her letters. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t know if he was even alive anymore. She still sent them every month, updating him diligently, wishing him well. The letters were not being returned so she would continue her correspondence.

Ferdinand was always prompt with his letters, almost as if he’d been born to reply. His responses were always overtly romantic even though her own letters were decidedly... not. His effort was woefully misplaced, but she hoped he would find love someday.

“That’s an awfully short shortlist,” Claude bit into a sandwich, and around a mouthful, added a moment later, “made a lot of enemies, huh?”

She winced and grew quiet, placing her empty teacup on its saucer. 

“... Sorry. I’m _sorry_ ,” he hissed after a sip of tea. He knew he’d fucked up. 

But more than that, it had taken him a beat _too_ long to offer an apology. That stung more than the insult, which she could have excused as a joke, if...

She bit back tears and shook her head as he poured her another cup of tea, both excusing his poor response and her poor choice in inviting him here.

For years Byleth had dreamed about reliving the lively tea times she’d shared with Claude, hoping their chemistry would lead to a compatible union, but things were at a standstill. Had she put too much stock in their past relationship? 

“Join me for service tonight.”

It would be the first service she gave since he arrived.

“Aw, Teach…” He gave her a grimace of hesitation. Byleth reached for his hand across the table and the small gesture seemed to take him by surprise.

“I know, _church_ ,” she laughed lightly, knowing well his views on organized religion. “You don’t have to do anything. I just… I would like you close. We can have wine afterwards,” she bribed, then added, “I’ll certainly need it.”

“Whatever you’d like,” he offered a small smile. It was a disappointing response. Fake.

What had she done to warrant such disregard, when she made every effort for his comfort?

That evening she donned her archbishop finery to lead mass, as was her obligation.

It’s not something she believes in, entirely, no--but by Rhea’s abandonment of the church she’d created, Byleth had been given the power to change scriptures, so she had done just that.

Judiciously she had removed mentions of Nemesis, she had struck from the record the importance of Crests, she had emphasized what people can do to help one another instead of the noble-commoner caste system bullshit that Rhea had installed in the past--wouldn’t Claude agree with those choices?

The contents of the jewelry box were still so tangled, and it took some effort to unravel the delicate chains of one of Rhea’s necklaces from the headdress she wore for every mass. When she fetched her father’s ring to be resized, she’d realized someone had touched her things--the first letter she’d sent Claude, inviting him to be her advisor, the one that had been returned--was missing. Who else could it be but _him_?

Slouching in the first pew, Claude looked like a bored child. Entirely disengaged. The things she thought might interest him didn’t seem to pique his curiosity at all.

She can ignore it--she has to, she can’t get upset or angry--she has to work. She pours her frustration into reciting her sermon and leading hymns. As the service winds down and the most devout of Rhea’s her followers line up at the dias to thank her, many compliment Byleth on how passionate she sounded this evening.

Oh, if only they _knew_. 

After the last of the congregation has dispersed, she approaches a small altar at the foot of a pillar. She lights a candle to join the others that have been lit this evening, and clasps her hands together in prayer.

She began to whisper the names that haunted her. 

“Edelgard, Hubert, Dorothea, Petra, Caspar, Bernadetta, Sylvain…”

Claude leaned in close, whispering, “What are you doing?”

She gasped in surprise, turning sad eyes to her companion. So he didn’t even have the decency to let her have a moment to herself?

“Saying a prayer.”

“A list of names isn’t a prayer.”

“...I’m not _done_ yet.” She broke from her devout gaze to shoot him a look, only to find him smirking at her. A rage began to bubble inside of her, not unlike the boiling passion she’d felt back in Almyra when he’d invited himself into her room at the tavern.

This time, however, she was close to her end of her fuse.

“Don’t be a shit,” she growled under her breath, and he let out a sharp bark of laughter that rang throughout the cathedral. He seemed thoroughly amused.

Why the _fuck_ was he like this?

She closed her eyes and sighed in the effort of trying to center herself, then continued, “Ashe, Lysithia, Lorenz, Seteth, Flayn, Dimitri, Linhardt, Mother, Father… may the Goddess guide each of my beloved to eternal peace.”

Byleth lingered a moment longer, wishing desperately she could go back and change everything. Sothis had given her a precious power, but as the child-goddess had once told Byleth after Jeralt’s death, you can’t change fate.

Her ragtag group had come so far together, triumphantly storming Enbarr, when suddenly… it didn’t matter how many times Byleth spun back time. When she lost someone, they were gone. Gone-gone. So many lost… so many she held dear...

A soft, whimpering sigh escaped her before she turned away from the altar. Claude was only a few steps away, staring at her. She couldn’t get a read on his expression. Even in Almyra she hadn’t felt this uncomfortable--even in the face of Claude’s vicious anger, at least she had an idea of what he was thinking. It had been a vicious anger. Perhaps she was a fool for thinking he wouldn’t hold a grudge against her. 

“Thank you for patience.” Byleth said as she took his arm, giving him a rueful smile as she tugged him along--the kind she noticed he always seemed annoyed with. It felt good to be a bit spiteful toward him, even if it was a minor offense. 

“I want to visit the graveyard.”

Claude was surprisingly agreeable to this suggestion, then patted her hand where it rested in the crook of his arm.

Beside accompanying her to the evening service, this small touch was probably the kindest gesture he’d made toward her all day, but coupled with his sour attitude, it wasn’t much. It wasn’t much at all.

As they exited the cathedral an aid offered them a small hand lantern. She was grateful when Claude took it. Though you could smell the green of spring in the air, the last vestiges of winter still made the sun set early. 

Byleth’s stomach ate at itself. If _she_ didn’t start conversation, would he? They made the stroll over the bridge from the cathedral to the reception hall without a peep. 

Oh. That’s the crux of it, huh. Any effort in this relationship was entirely one-sided. 

As they entered the building, Claude automatically guided her toward the graveyard. She tugged him to a stop.

“Hey.”

“Mmm?” He glanced down at her. She'd pulled his mind from the clouds. 

“You’re not yourself today.”

“I’m quite sure I’m Claude von Riegan,” he replied without missing a beat, offering her a dashing smile.

Betraying how she felt, she couldn’t help but smile warmly back. But his eyes… they looked so distant. Her smile lingered into a grimace as they continued their leisurely walk to the graveyard.

The wide steps to the small graveyard terrace felt impossibly deep today. Everything felt… heavy. Off. 

She was grateful Claude didn’t say or do anything while they were here, but honestly, it was basic human decency. Why should she laude him for that? 

He was a good person, right?

Did good people take such delight in casual cruelty?

Byleth was lonely and looking for a warm body. She swallowed the truth and let it fester in her stomach. 

She spent a quiet moment of reflection at each grave. One by one she removed the lilies from her headdress to place at the base of each headstone, crouching to say a small prayer as she did so.

One flower for the mother she would never know, a mother who sacrificed everything so Byleth might live. She had never learned her mother’s name, and Jeralt had never written it, but knowing that she herself was Rhea’s accidental thirteenth attempt, she called mother Twelve. _Thank you._

Byleth swore the crest stone in her chest stirred her heart whenever she was standing above her mother’s grave, but it was likely just a fanciful notion. 

Jeralt… Father. The only person who had loved her unconditionally, and the second person to be taken from her before their time. _I miss you._

Linhardt… this was always the most difficult. Oh, _Lin…_

_His body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, tired from the exertion of loving her. Her rough palms glided over his slender body, fingers digging into his hips as he pulled out. But she wanted him to stay, enjoying the kind of closeness she only shared with him. Linhardt’s physique was soft in places where hers was hard, and she liked that. He had no unkind bone in his body, and she liked that too._

_The cot they shared was too small for two adults, but they didn’t care. Everyone made concessions during war. They’d been sharing her tent like this for months._

_His long, dark hair cascaded around them as he gazed down at her. “Hey.”_

_Smooth, he was not._

_Byleth smoothed a lock of hair behind his ear, smirking. “Hey.”_

_Neither was she._

_“A-after this is all over…”_

_A genuine smile spread over Byleth’s face._

_“Why are you nervous? It’s just me,” she purred, guiding one of his hands to her cheek. She brushed her lips against his palm and that seemed to give him the confidence boost he was seeking._

_“I know we’ve talked about how crests will be useless after the war… well, I prattled on at you,” the gentle man smiled in that self-effacing way he often did, “but how do you feel about babies?”_

_“Uhh? Lin, what are--” Byleth turned bright red._

_Linhardt blushed too, but continued, a cheeky smile on his pretty face now. “I wonder... with your major crest and my minor crest, would our children have better odds of having a crest at all?”_

_“I…”_

_Byleth had never considered children. She hadn’t been much better than a beast for most of her life. She’d barely come to know her own emotions until recently, yet this kind, curious gremlin had cradled his fingers around her unbeating heart._

_“I mean, think about it. After things settle down, we’ll have time. Years, in fact. Decades! We can settle in the countryside. Something with a stream running through it so we can fish to our hearts’ content. Lots of trees. Dappled meadows for naps. I can monitor every stage of our pregnancy. Or pregnancies, if you’ll indulge my curiosity.”_

_It was the most droll description of wanting to marry and start a family she had ever heard... and she wanted all of those things. Coming from Linhardt, the proposition was utterly romantic._

_Another tingle of warmth spread throughout her body, this time from her chest. Knowing their bond was the same... Byleth wished to will the war away with a snap of her fingers, but Shambhala loomed. One more battle._

_Instead of dwelling upon it, Byleth pulled him down for a kiss that left them both a little breathless._

_“We can start right now,” she whispered, their noses bumping. “We can have as many as you want. I love you, Linhardt.”_

_His deep violet eyes were dark with lust, warmth, affection. He gave her the most incredible smile. “I love you, Byleth.”_

Byleth almost crushed the lily she intended to place on Linhardt’s grave in her hand as she fell to her knees, wailing. She could hear his voice. The memories felt fresh. Had they been together just last night? No, it wasn’t possible, but--

“Byleth,” a voice called to her. It wasn’t Linhardt, but they were warm. Strong arms cradled her and she melted into their body eagerly. Claude. He whispered small, sweet comforts in Almyran as she sobbed. It meant the world to her, erasing all the transgressions he’d made today.

She lost herself in a spell of sorrow. But as she came back down from the edge of grief, she became keenly aware of his heartbeat, strong and steady. His scent, of lavender and pine and _him_. 

With weepy eyes she looked up at Claude, her fingers curling into his silk jacket. 

“Oh. I promised you wine…”

He returned a skeptical look. “Forget it, Teach. We can drink some other time. I don’t think you--.”

“ _I_ need a drink. _You_ may join me if you’d like.”

She attempted to stand on her own but her legs were like gelatin from kneeling for so long. 

Claude was there to steady her; hand in hand, she was able to rise to her feet. He was there for her. He was _here_.

“Help me to my room? And stay with me for a while.”

He looked as if a cheeky comment was on the tip of his tongue but he kept it to himself. As he led her up the stairs to her quarters, she murmured a quiet thank you. 

Once inside, she shuffled over to her vanity table and stared at herself in the mirror. The exhaustion and last vestiges of today’s grief were plainly etched under her eyes. Oh well. She combed her fingers through her long pale hair and tried to detangle the small clips that kept the headdress on, but lost patience two seconds in, exasperated by everything.

“Help me take this stupid thing off?” she called across the apartment.

“Heh,” Claude smirked. His dexterous fingers untangled and unclasped the headdress easily without so much as a snag. She watched his reflection in the mirror; totally focused on the task at hand, his expression was endearing to her. 

Claude swept her hair to cascade over one shoulder. “Back laces too?” he asked, but had already started. 

She nodded. He was sweetly attentive when he felt like it. She was grateful.

“How do you usually get in and out of this?” 

“I have an attendant,” she answered, and waited for him to free her from her prison. Byleth continued to shrug until the bodice of the long sleeved gown garment shimmied down her chest and around her waist, leaving her in a bustier and little else. With a sigh, she righted herself and let the dress fall to the ground. The constrictive bustier was soon to follow.

Claude made a flabbergasted noise. Their eyes met in the mirror’s reflection and he turned red, quickly averting his eyes. 

She turned to him, bare breasted and unconcerned. “We’re getting married next week, you can look all you want.”

He stole a quick glance from the corner of his eye but didn’t give her an answer. Speechless, huh. She smiled just a little. 

She took a robe from a nearby hook and cozied into it, hanging her archbishop gown in its place and kicking off the matching painful shoes. “I hate that thing,” she complained. “Feels so good to be free,” she shuffled across the room, adjusting the robe until she was decent. “Anyway, let’s drink. Make yourself at home.”

“Why don’t you wear something else?” Claude asked as he followed, referring to the dress. He’d draped his jacket across the back of an armchair, and was loosening his cravat. Good.

“The archbishop gown? Laziness above all,” she said dryly. “I hate dresses, but I hate finding new clothes.” Byleth opened a cabinet and plucked two short glasses from a shelf. “Here, take these,” she handed them back to Claude. She took a moment to deliberate her choices, then turned from the cabinet, brandishing a bottle of wine in each hand. Triumphant.

They were going to drink, and once they were deep enough in their cups, they were going to talk. She wanted so badly to talk to him about something that wasn’t superficial. How did he _feel_? 

“Two?!” he exclaimed from where he was seated on the plush carpet, toasting his sock-clad feet in front of the fireplace. His boots had been shed elsewhere in the apartment.

“Psh. I can drink a bottle by myself. Easily. One for you and one for me,” she toddled to Claude’s side and pressed one bottle into his hand. She settled beside him, sitting so they were shoulder to shoulder. As she peeled away some of the wax on her bottle she realized she sounded like Professor Manuela. Oh no.

With a raised brow, Claude pretended to turn his attention to the wine label. “Let’s open one for now... _Manuela_.”

Byleth lost herself in laughter, tears squeezing from her eyes. She couldn’t _believe_ they had been on the same wavelength. It felt so good to laugh after feeling so desperately sad just a while ago.

It was a little scary how quickly she could oscillate between emotions. Claude seemed to understand and was appropriately supportive. Even though he was mostly an ass, he had more emotional intelligence than anyone she’d ever met.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she jabbed back in a lighthearted moment, and he laughed. It sounded genuine. Why had his mood changed for the better? “We’ll end up drinking it, I’m sure.”

A sweet scent wafted through the air as Byleth filled each of their cups with a generous pour. She preferred beer, but wine hit her harder and she needed liquid confidence right now. Claude’s drinking habits were a mystery to her but she hoped with some alcohol, his tongue would loosen, and perhaps his belt.

She wanted to know him again. Had she really known him at all?

“Cheers,” he offered, and they clinked their glasses in a toast. She finished a good portion of her cup in a foolish gulp and poured herself more, ignoring Claude’s openly judgemental expression.

Byleth stared into her wine glass as if it held all the answers she sought. “Was she with you at Gronder?” 

“She was. I imagine she went back to Enbarr. But I… honestly, I don’t know.” Claude’s fond smile turned into a grimace, and he ran his fingers through his hair. It was a nervous tic. Byleth knew he’d lost everyone at Gronder, but to death or desertion, she had no clue. 

It was not her intention to pick at emotional scars--as she had many of her own she didn’t want touched--but something compelled her to share with him.

“After I learned the outcome of the battle… I saw Dimitri,” Byleth quietly admitted. Claude shot her a look. “Hear me out. It must have been a dream. I didn’t quite recognize him but he _felt_ like Dimitri. He confided that he had been on a losing campaign from the start, and he had to make a decision. But before he told me what it was, I woke up.”

Claude quietly absorbed her admission; he was carefully considering her every word. “I believe you,” he finally said, though the words were a little bitter. “Were you involved with him?”

“Involved? Ah… Dimitri was sweet to me.” Byleth felt her cheeks grow so hot she wished she could dunk herself in the wine. Dimitri had been so incredibly sincere with her. The memories of his lips brushing her palm, her brow, his fingers tangling in her hair--were so distant they felt like hazy dreams. Though they had done little more than kiss, her brief relationship with the Crown Prince of Faerghus was arguably the most romantic relationship she’d ever had. 

...But Dimitri experienced emotions in a dangerous, all-consuming way. The same depth of love he expressed for Byleth was the same depth of hatred he held for Edelgard. It was thrilling and terrifying all at the same time; he had been like the ocean. And in the end, the riptide had pulled him under. “I wish he was here.”

A look flashed in Claude’s eyes. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. He sighed over the rim of his cup. “I miss him.”

She and Claude had lost so many. She shook her head to clear it of the fog of a different kind of grief, a mutual sorrow. She hummed in agreement, as she missed him too. A second later the subtext hit her. “Were you...? With Dimitri?”

Claude stared into the fire, savoring a mouthful of wine.

“Well… not for lack of trying. He only had eyes for you,” he murmured, turning his blue-green eyes toward her. “I understand why. You’re utterly enchanting.”

The intensity of his gaze was like a predator stalking its prey. Byleth was so startled had to avert her eyes. His hand, calloused and warm, reached for hers. He rarely touched her outside of comforting her through bouts of grief.

She expected he would try to kiss her after such a sweet proclamation, but Claude made no such move. 

They sat in silence for a while.

Claude finished his wine, she refilled it. 

“I didn’t mean to dredge up the past.”

Claude watched her carefully. “Who else do we know who understands what we’ve seen? Been through? Not many. Talk about whatever you like.”

He always seemed ready to say the right thing. So she meandered from topic to topic, and Claude listened more than talked, but she appreciated him anyway. His insights were always on point. 

“Do you miss Almyra?” Byleth asked, snuggling against his side.

“Of course I do,” he admitted easily. Their faces were close now, and she admired his silhouette in the warm firelight. “Every day. It’s where my ambition started and where it will end. Family is there. Friends. But if I think about it too much it’ll stop me from doing much else.”

He said these things but he’d seemed isolated, alone. What was the truth?

“I’m grateful you came back with me, Claude. You’ve made my life a thousand times easier.”

He laughed lightly. “A thousand? That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t ya think?”

“Not at all. I was going mad with the effort of keeping up with it all. There was too much for me to even delegate properly. So… thank you. I appreciate you,” she paused to smile up at him. A wave of his hesitation hit her and she wound up for the kill. “But you’re an utter dastard,” she added.

“And there it is,” Claude laughed, the sound full-bodied and warm. “Hey, don’t look at me like that!”

It was the first time her apartment felt like a home. Was that the wine or her isolation talking? Was either reaction healthy? Ergh.

Shortly thereafter they’d given up on sitting and both reclined on the carpet, facing one another with the spoils of war wine between them. One bottle was finished, the other was _almost_ there. Claude’s cheeks were surprisingly red from the alcohol. The conversation had grown tense as Byleth recounted their final war effort with concentrated detachment.

She was able to speak of losing Linhardt without dipping into a pool of grief again. That was major progress, however small.

“We had made a promise to marry one another,” she said quietly, averting her eyes. “And just like that, he was gone.”

“...I’m sorry, By.” Claude said, moving the mess they’d made so he could lay beside her.

She tucked her face close to his chest. She was grateful he was here.

“I wish Rhea had died during that battle,” Byleth murmured. “Not that it would free any of us from… this,” she sighed, gesturing broadly to the world that Rhea had shaped.

“All we can do is keep our precious memories and move forward. It’s what the dead would want.” He was right, of course. “And maybe it’s not much comfort, but now we have each other.”

His body weight _was_ comforting. She smiled painfully. Claude sent such mixed signals. He must have almost kissed her a half dozen times since he’d arrived at the monastery. At this rate their first kiss would be on the altar and for Byleth that would be too strange. 

Emboldened by the wine that warmed her, she turned her face up to ask, “Why are you only nice to me when I’m sad?”

“I’m not in the business of kicking someone when they’re down.”

She gave him a wry smile, studying his roguishly handsome face. “What business _are_ you in, Claude?”

“Right _now_? Trying to be a good friend.”

She coaxed him by the collar, pulling him close. So close she could smell the wine on his breath. “Let’s be more than that,” she whispered, nosing his cheek. She undid the first few buttons on his shirt. 

“...Byleth?” Claude peeled away just enough so that she his beautiful eyes grew round in surprise. The thrill of being so close to him was electric. 

Her drunk brain did not take things slow. She slipped her tongue in his mouth and he moaned obscenely. Ah, it was nice to turn the tables. 

For all the posturing he’d done in Almyra… Claude was not as practiced as he’d led her to believe. His kisses were just as rusty as hers. She liked that. He was touching her and he was earnest about it, that was all she could ask for. 

They parted, breathless. She smoothed her hands over the bare skin he’d revealed, pausing briefly. “Is this okay?”

“More than,” he encouraged, taking care of the shirt so they could press skin to skin. He was not shy about licking and sucking at her throat, one hand wandering to her hip to keep their bodies close. 

She cried softly when he bit her neck. It hurt… but she liked it. He followed up with lashings of his tongue to soothe the tender skin, nuzzling and whispering sweet things to her. 

But he was in control and she _didn’t_ like that. In a smooth movement she coaxed Claude onto his back and straddled his hips, running her hands through his hair. The effort made her robe unfurl. Neither of them seemed to mind.

“You’re a _terrible_ friend, Claude,” she chastised in Almyran as she slid back on his hips, glaring down at him like a malevolent ruler. Her change in attitude sparked a change in his attitude and he seemed favorably pleased with himself. 

“Am I, darling?” he purred back in kind, the sound hitching when she twisted one of his nipples. He writhed under her.

Oh, that was _nice_. His Almyran accent was incredibly sexy when he was aroused--his voice had dropped an octave.

It was not in her nature to let problems go, but her desire to make him happy had kept those base instincts in check. Tonight she was drunk and horny and brave enough to call him out on his transgression. 

Even if he couldn’t emotionally support her the way Linhardt would've, she was sure Claude would be willing to bed her. Guilt him and fuck him, keep him on a tight leash. If that's how it had to be, so be it.

“Did you find what you were looking for, my curious little deer?” Byleth asked in a singsong voice.

She didn’t wait for an answer, and pressed his wrists above his head. Her breasts pushed against his strong chest and she watched him intently as she rocked her hips. He was deliciously distracted, torn between answering her and watching her.

“Did you read the journal? The letters? Did you look at the ring I’m going to claim you with? Ah, Claude. Did you think I wouldn’t know what you’d do if I left you to your own devices? You’re not the only one to scheme.”

“Ah--”

Though he tried, he could not pull away from her grasp. Claude watched her every move as he writhed under her. Her underwear was but a thin barrier between their hips, and she could feel his body’s response through his trousers. She wanted to see all of him, learn his body, hear him gasp as she pleasured him.

“My my, have I rendered you speechless?” Byleth purred. She nibbled along his jaw and nosed her way to his ear, savoring every noise he made. He was _very_ vocal. “I think I’m going to claim you tonight.”

At this he whimpered, shutting his eyes as she breathed hotly in his ear.

“Byleth, please--”

Claude sounded... insecure. That wasn’t right. It was enough to put a damper on her fun. She released his wrists and sat back, tenderly grasping his chin until their eyes met.

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m more than okay,” he flashed a small, reassuring smirk, then became more subdued. “But… I’m sorry.”

“...I knew you were gonna do it,” she said defeatedly. “I accept your apology, but I’m still gonna be mad.”

She’d caught Linhardt doing the very same thing years ago, crouched in front of the very same jewelry box like some sort of cave creature. She could almost see her family’s secrets float into the air from Jeralt’s diary, and Linhardt had plucked them one by one like wonderful delicacies. Claude had been more discreet about it, but both men were cut from the same cloth. She clearly had a type.

She couldn’t help but ogle Claude’s muscled torso as he curled up to meet her in a kiss, making a small noise of surprise as he nestled his chin over her shoulder. For all their bitey play, he was being so tender now. 

“Shall we continue this in bed?” he purred, his hands roaming her back, smoothing at her buttocks so he could buck against her. “You can angry-fuck me,” Claude's offer was tantalizing.

He was still hard. 

“ _Yes,_ ” she laughed impatiently, pulling away enough to catch his lips. Though they lost themselves in each other again, Claude somehow found his way to wobbly feet and helped Byleth to hers, giggling as they tripped over themselves.

She dropped her robe along the way, his shirt was lost to floor somewhere. Standing bedside, she worked at his belt and the lacings on his pants. 

The tension in his body was palpable. 

“Nervous? Don’t be,” she murmured. She nibbled the shell of his ear, and guided one of his large hands to a breast. Was he... trembling?

He could only respond with a hum. Curious, but if he wasn’t actively protesting she _wasn’t_ stopping this time.

He was disappointingly… gentle.

“You can be rough,” she encouraged with a smirk, clasping her hand over his to give herself a squeeze. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

Byleth stole a quick kiss then pushed him onto the bed with a shove and maybe a little _too_ much force, drunk though she was. Gliding over his body, she tipped back to admire her partner, and felt like she had conquered the world. Here was a man she’d wanted for years, yearning for her between her thighs.

Gods, he was impulsive, rude, insensitive and selfish. 

If she could rely on him to keep working diligently and for sex, perhaps she didn’t need him emotionally. Things would be fine. This was a fine arrangement.

He was her treasure, and she’d treasure him in her own way.

As his hands wandered to the junction of her hip, Byleth wondered how an archer’s strong, practiced fingers would strum her. It was intoxicating to think about, so she didn’t. Instead she throbbed with lust as she slid one of his hands beneath her underwear, moaning in satisfaction. It had been too long.

“Byleth, I--”

“Yes?” She gyrated, sighing in relief as he curled a few fingers inside of her. She began to pant. "Goddess, that feels good."

“I--”

He twisted away and threw up over the side of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry byleth
> 
> sorry everybody
> 
> our boy can't handle his booze
> 
> lol


	5. Careful Steps and Quiet Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the altar in the great Garreg Mach cathedral, Byleth and Claude exchange vows.
> 
> The sandstone surrounding Claude's heart begins to erode.

Before THE INCIDENT he’d fantasized about Byleth just like a 12 year old boy: utterly obsessed with her beautiful eyes, gazing at him half lidded through pale lashes. Her full lips parted in a sorrowful pout. Kissing her tears away.

What did she taste like?

In the aftermath of THE INCIDENT, Byleth had been kind and had taken care of him until his body had finished rejecting the wine and he was hydrated enough to fall asleep. She cuddled at his back and hugged her arms around his chest. 

That night he learned she battled her own demons--she experienced night terrors the likes of which he’d never seen. It broke his heart to see her suffer--and he was utterly unequipped with the knowledge of how to soothe her, though by the Gods he’d tried.

Claude woke up the morning after with a sharp inhale. The weight on the mattress had shifted suddenly and he knew he was alone. Rolling onto his back, he smoothed an arm under the covers to where Byleth had been. Still warm. He wiggled over to her spot and inhaled the scent of her in a deep sigh.

She’d slipped out of bed to ready herself for the day without a word or a touch or… anything.

Feeling the weight of her silent rejection, Claude collected his clothes on his way out of her apartment, redressing and returning to his own. His head pounded with each step. He attempted to make a quick tonic after his shower, but knew if he could concoct such a remedy he would be a very rich man. He drank the dark liquid anyway; placebo effect was nothing to sniff at.

For the first time since he’d arrived, he sought out Byleth’s company.

When he was finally able to corner her that evening, her response was not what he expected. 

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to be around you right now,” she’d said.

Used to her begging for his time with little invitations peppered throughout their interactions, Claude was… well, honestly, he was offended that the well had run dry.  _ He _ wanted her so why wasn’t she fawning over him?

Now, days after THE INCIDENT he couldn’t stop thinking more... unrefined thoughts.

These unrefined thoughts that plagued him at all hours, and he sought out erotic novels to find some relief, telling himself it was research in an effort not to mar his pride. He felt out of control.

He  _ hated _ that he wanted her so badly. This was why he’d purposefully avoided anything other than kissing and casual emotional flings--he had ambitions to fulfill. 

All this strife, and they hadn’t even  _ had _ sex because he’d  _ ruined _ it.

But more concerning to Claude: Byleth was desperately unreachable in her sadness. 

Their wedding was a handful of days away. 

* * *

Claude glanced at the clock. Their overly-fanciful state wedding will begin soon enough. He stepped out from the reception hall and crossed the bridge to the cathedral. A light drizzle made the sky misty, but the monastery grounds were buzzing as final preparations were being made. Excessively fluffy bouquets were hung over the sides of the bridge to greet guests, and pennant banners in the pale wedding colors Byleth had chosen were being hung from lamp to lamp.

Enormous banners emblazoned with the crest of the Unified Fódlan were unfurled from each belltower right as Claude crossed the bridge, billowing in the gentle breeze. How picturesque. 

His boots clicked on each step as he descended to the first sub-level of the cathedral and a labyrinth of various meeting rooms. She was down here somewhere changing, he was sure. An aide cheerfully pointed him in the right direction.

Claude’s nerves knotted his stomach with anxiety. He felt a bit like a princess whisked away from her tower to be the sacrificial offering to a dragon. 

Peeking on the vessel of a woman who had been pulled into existence by the power of the Fódlani dragon Goddess, he realized that perhaps it wasn’t so far from the truth.

Inside the small room a tailor was putting the finishing touches on Byleth’s gown, tacking seams into place and buttoning her in. So many tiny, stupid buttons. 

Tradition and superstition be damned, he’d intended to steal a glimpse and run off to his own dressing room, but that glimpse had lingered for a moment too long and Byleth caught him in the reflection. Her smile was bright and she beckoned him over immediately. Part of him was glad she didn’t believe in such bullshit superstitions either. 

“You look stunning,” Claude said with quiet, honest reverence, taking in all the details. 

The gown hugged her chest, waist and hips, flaring out dramatically at her thigh. Ruched details emphasized  _ just _ how tiny her waist was, and just how large her hips and bust were. Her bare arms were braided sinew. In a rare moment of possessiveness, Claude  _ almost _ didn’t want anyone else to see her.

“...Really? I hate this.” Byleth sighed at her reflection, readjusting her bodice. 

Claude did not miss an annoyed look from the tailor and had to stifle a laugh. 

“I should’ve taken my own advice and worn pants. I suppose it isn’t so bad if I consider it a different kind of armor,” she conceded with a heavy sigh, adjusting the plunging neckline of her dress. She was too tantalizing--he had to avert his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

This was the first time they’d had a non-work conversation in close to a week, and she acted as if nothing was wrong. That was somewhat concerning.

Claude smirked. “I’m ready to get it over with.”

Her laughter bubbled up to the domed ceiling.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked with genuine concern. For the first time since he’d been back in Fódlan, he expressed some sensitivity.

“Our marriage? Yes, of course.”

She spoke with conviction, as if they’d had a courtship and engagement of many years. Though this arrangement would likely result in what he’d always dreamed of, her sheer kindness continued to baffle him.

“Byleth…”

Gathering his hands in hers, she smiled up at him. Sincere and loving and expectant. She was so warm towards him, warmer than someone like Claude deserved.

“I can’t wait to see you all dressed up,” she purred, kissing his chin. The small affection melted him. “See you on the altar.”

Claude changed in an adjoining room. He’d requested Almyran inspired garments and the tailor had done a decent job.

Anyone from Fódlan wouldn’t have an understanding of the how or the why of the way Almyran garments should be structured without a lot of study, but it looked nice on the outside. The pale creams and golds of the robe and billowing pants complimented his skin and hair nicely.

Instead of a new sash he insisted on using the one from his stint as the leader of the Alliance. It was somehow fitting to go back to it, even if the Alliance was no more. It was part of his Fódlan heritage, after all. Byleth might tell him Fódlan was different now, but he knew he had to try and blend. 

As he waited at the altar, a murmuring sea of strange faces trickled into the cathedral, filling the pews from the front to the back. There is absolutely no one he recognizes looking back at him. 

A bubbling chorus of trumpets rose to announce the Unifier’s arrival.

The cathedral doors opened to reveal Byleth’s distant silhouette. She has no one to give her away, so she proceeds down the aisle alone, carrying a large bouquet of stargazer lilies.

His heart skipped a beat when she made it to the altar. 

In the time they’d been apart her hair had been fluffed and curled and pinned up at the back of her head, and a long translucent veil flowed from behind a crown of lilies. Her lips were stained crimson and her pale eyelashes had been painted black. A shimmering pigment made her doll-like eyes look even larger.

Frankly, she’s stunning.

Though this was a marriage of convenience, it wasn’t lost on him he was lucky as hell to marry such a beautiful woman. 

But she’s shaking. Weddings are emotional affairs, so no one seems phased by this. But he’s never seen her quite like  _ this _ so he’s unsettled.

“You ok?” he whispered harshly, regarding her from the corner of his eye.

She nodded and they both continued to feign attention to the officiant’s speech.

Rings and vows were traded. She stumbles over hers with a blush so deep it graces her cleavage and finds himself blushing, too. They exchange rings--she gives him the ring Jeralt gave her, he gives her a Almyran-inspired gold band with an inlaid emerald that he made sure matched her eyes. He has a  _ little _ flair left in him. 

Immediately after their exchange of vows, Byleth instructs him to kneel. From an attendant she lifts and she places a circlet of gold on his dark hair. She announced his new status as her consort to the congregation. Her voice is strong and commanding as she speaks of him. He likes that. 

When he stands, they kiss--softly at first, then he presses into her, testing how far he can take church tongue. She nips him back. She tasted  _ strongly _ of wine. 

… was Byleth wasted at their wedding ceremony? He didn’t have time to consider the implications of that. This whole affair was just another form of work, and after their vows they had responsibilities to attend to. 

They spent most of the afternoon greeting a long line of politicians that hailed from all over the Unified Fódlan.

A few swear they’ve met Claude before as a way to curry favor, but he has never seen any of these people--any lords he may have known have long since had their status stripped away by Byleth’s decree and would not be here. He only recognizes the names of their territories and city-states.

Fhirdiad, Dimitri’s home. Gautier, from where Sylvain hailed. Enbarr, Edelgard. Gloucester, Lorenz. His own Derdriu.

As the hour wore on the list grew longer and longer. He remembered the faces of allies and enemies who hailed from each region almost  _ too _ vividly.

An uncomfortable realization hits him. This is Byleth’s reality.

He had escaped Fódlan with nothing but his life, and by doing so, lost any advantage he’d have in either country... but it also meant he’d also been able to sever painful ties to his allies.

Byleth received no such respite, surrounded by these daily reminders. Names, places, faces... stuck in a loop. A constant barrage of what she had done and who she’d may have killed, directly or indirectly.

_ Fuck. _

“Felix!”

She stepped down to embrace him. Byleth was truly happy to see a familiar face.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said, a bittersweet emotion on her brow. Her voice cracked with emotion as she said next, “I sent you so many letters, I--”

“You’re one of the few people I respect, of course I’d make it to your wedding,” Felix waved her concern away, obviously uncomfortable that she was making such a big deal. “You seem. Well.”

“I’m well,” she affirmed quickly. Claude was surprised at the lie, and how she’d dropped it so casually. Was she smart? Yes. But he’d never taken her for a liar. “I hope you are staying a day or two?”

Claude had to finish greeting another guest and was unable to hear the details as they exchanged a few more words--Felix passed along a letter and a small gift--and they embraced tightly before parting. 

Less warmly he turned to Claude, seizing the moment to speak while Byleth greeted their next guest.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Felix said drolly, sizing Claude up in the intimidating way he did with anyone who was even  _ one _ centemeter taller than he was. Claude was surprised at Felix’s grip strength as they shook hands.

The swordsman leaned in close to discreetly whisper, “Watch her. Something about her reminds me of the boar. I know you and he...” Felix sighed with a heavy weight, shaking his head. His voice trembled a bit as he warned, “Don’t let the same thing happen to her.”

_ Dimitri _ . Claude’s heart sank as Felix shook his hand again, smoothly playing the whole thing off as a private conversation between two old friends, complete with a friendly little smile, which looked weird on the stoic swordsman's face. 

“Sure. Yeah. Of course.”

Thing was, Claude wasn’t sure exactly what Felix  _ meant _ . He had known Dimitri when they were students, but for only a brief time before he… before he passed. Trying to decipher Felix’s words put a damper on Claude’s energy.

After the last guest has been greeted, they proceed to exit the cathedral. They stop just short of the threshold; the bridge is flanked with guests. They found the mist had dissipated, and the sun had come out to bless their union.

“I... can’t guarantee anything,” he said sheepishly as he circled her waist with one arm and gathered her skirts up with the other. He grunted, lifting her slightly. She giggled like a child.

Unfortunately for him, she’s solid muscle and he has not kept up his careful Academy training regimine. As soon as she was solidly on solid ground again, Byleth laughed and tugged him to his feet.

A moment later she swept him into her arms, a jumble of golden silk. He yelped in surprise and Byleth can only laugh, proceeding across the bridge to the reception hall.

Claude was not one to let his manhood be threatened and nuzzled into her hair. This moment felt so… nice. They were showered with flower petals as they cross. It’s utterly romantic and Claude can see no one but Byleth. 

A bittersweet emotion stings him---was all of this a dream? 

Byleth sets him gently on his feet. As she does so, a romantic and sweeping string accompaniment fills the hall. As guests file in, they are given the floor. 

Their first dance. Their bodies fit so nicely against each other; Claude can feel himself blush when she tilts up for a kiss. Her face rests perfectly against his neck, and she nuzzles him with the utmost affection. 

“My husband,” Byleth whispered fondly, nosing her way to his earlobe. He has to shy away. She’s too much. She sticks out her tongue at him and he catches her in a kiss. 

Byleth is by no means a sloppy drunk, but she is far more expressive and affectionate than she’s ever been with him in public. Exactly how much did she have to drink before the ceremony? It’s been hours at this point.

After barely any contact with her over the last week, he laps up the attention with only a little guilt.

They swing apart at the end of the song. As the floor opens up to the rest of their guests, he pulls her close again. She melts into him and he feels something strumming on his heartstrings. He could stare at her for the rest of his life. Well, technically he guessed he  _ could _ .

As her head was cradled against his neck again, he dipped to whisper incredulously, “Byleth, we just got married.”

She roused from her happy trance to smile up at him and nibbled at his lower lip. “I’m so happy--”

“ _ Ferdinand _ !” Byleth suddenly squealed in delight at her comrade’s appearance, and detached herself from Claude to embrace her friend. They exchange chaste cheek kisses before he whirls her away. 

They seem to have a wonderful time as Ferdinand leads her in one of those stilted, stuffy noble dances, then another. 

Claude  _ seethes _ .

Fucking Ferdinand von Aegir. Of all the people in this cursed world, it was  _ that _ milquetoast dastard? 

* * *

_ Byleth was intently studying Dimitri and Edelgard as they took the floor with students from other houses. She looked out of place among all of the finely dressed students and very uncomfortable in her own mercenary armor. _

_ Claude was watching her; though he’d asked her to save him a dance over one of their chess matches last week, he was still a mess of nerves. What if she changed her mind and denied him, though she had never turned down an invitation? _

_ A lot had gone into ensuring the evening would bear fruit. He’d even considered when the best time would be to make his move, and the moment was imminent.  _

_ Once she took note of his presence, Claude flashed a confident, faux-surprised smile and swept her into the crowd.  _

_ She was awkward. He’d expected it. She was nigh unreadable to him. Unreadable to most anyone.  _

_ But he’d planned his script and a myriad of ways their dialogue could go and was going to give it his best.  _

_ He needed Byleth’s strength.  _

_ So Claude did his best, and decided to appeal to the bond of their friendship. He only had a few moments to make a new impression on her. _

_ They chatted lightly, and he told a joke that drew a smirk—high praise from the inexpressive Ashen Demon.  _

_ She was surprisingly deft in she following the lead of his freeform steps. He was impressed, and chalked it up to her ability to think quickly on the battlefield. _

_ “You’ve become important to me,” he said tenderly as they swept around the room. _

_ “You’re important to me too, Claude,” she replied without missing a beat. _

_ A spark of something danced in her eyes. It was the first time he’d coaxed a  _

_ flicker of a deeper emotional engagement within her.  _

_ His heart thrummed.  _

_ “I’ve shared my ambitions with you before, but...” The thrum in his heart intensified to a pound. He had to remain calm outwardly even if his heart felt like it might explode. Claude leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “Teach, will you join me?” _

**_Please stay by my side_ ** _. _

_ A shy glance. A sweet smile. She was going to answer amicably. He could  _ **_taste_ ** _ it. _

_ “Claude, I—“ _

_ “—May I have the favor of your next dance?”  _

_ Dimitri had interrupted them. _

_ Claude and Byleth pulled to a stop and stared up at the tall young prince. They pair were equally flustered by the request.  _

_ “Ah…” _

_ Before Claude finished answering, he realized the proposition was not for him; Byleth replied brightly in the pause he left behind. _

_ She was incredibly expressive for Dimitri… not for him.  _

_ Claude could feel the effervescent burst of radiant energy between them; he was so easily excluded.  _

_ Over and over and over since Byleth had started teaching at Garreg Mach, she always made him feel included, even... special. Her careful consideration, and now the quick withdrawal of it, made this sting even more.  _

_ Dimitri picked up on the social faux pas he’d made and became endearingly awkward. “Ah, it was rude of me to interrupt. Please forgive me, Claude. Professor.” _

_ The prince of Faerghus flourished a bow of apology and disappeared into the crowd to wait for Teach’s hand. _

_ Seething with bitter jealousy, Claude selfishly wanted to keep Byleth at his hip for the rest of the evening.  _

_ He also wished he could  _ **_be_ ** _ her. Who wouldn’t want to be doted on by such a prince? No matter what he did, Claude couldn’t catch Dimitri’s eye. Dimitri only saw Byleth.  _

_ Byleth.  _

_ Claude flashed his most dashing smile. _

_ “So what do you think? Let’s chat over one more dance?”  _

_ Claude kept his tone light and friendly. _

_ He needed more time to work her.  _

_ He needed her guidance and power.  _

_ He needed her. _

_ Politely, Byleth declined, no hint of anything behind those large, vapid eyes of hers. She’d smiled so warmly for Dimitri, but she had closed off to Claude. _

_ She floated on light feet to Dimitri and he swept her away in a graceful arc. The crown prince had nothing but love in his eyes, and she reflected it all back at him. It was like she’d never danced with Claude. _

**_Damn it all._ **

_ He retreats into the crowd and considers his next move. He’d had such a good feeling and Dimitri had so easily… ugh. Fate was cruel. _

_ He plasters a smile on his face and attempts to have a good time by asking for dances from a few students, but was rejected twice more. Seeing him flail on the edge of the floor, Lorenz swoops in and gave him the honor of a dance.  _

_ “It won’t do to have our house leader wilting, now will it?” Lorenz sniffed, but Claude knew that Lorenz Hellman Gloucester would  _ **_never_ ** _ pass up the chance to save a damsel in distress. _

_ It started a chain reaction--Hilda was next, then Leonie called dibs, followed by Ignatz and Lysithea. Raphael cheered them on from the sidelines, and Claude asked the meek Marianne for his last dance. She made a thousand excuses in a minute for her sloppy footwork, and it puffed up his ego to be able to instill confidence in the talented mage. _

_ He felt warmed that at least his house members had his back. _

_ After a somewhat salvaged night, he wanders out into the chilly winter evening, alone. _

_ He glances up at the stars in the clear night sky. It was a good reminder--his problems were small and temporary, his dreams, achievable.  _

_ He’d intended to head back to his room, but truth be told, it has been difficult to ignore the rumors about the Goddess Tower over the last week and a half as the Academy buzzed with excitement about the ball. _

_ Still. Claude is more of a romantic than his pragmatic heart would ever let him care to admit. Perhaps someone is waiting for him, he deludes himself as he climbs the steps two at a time. _

_ He skids to a stop before swinging through the doorway… a couple of someones are already here. _

_ He tucks himself behind the doorway before either of them notice. Peering around the corner, his heart stops.  _

_ They look like a painting illustrated with swaths of moonlight. Beautiful. The wet sound of their kisses was disgusting. Arousing. Infuriating.  _

_ Wrapped up in their young love, neither Dimitri or Byleth wanted anything to do with him.  _

_ Claude would do  _ **_anything_ ** _ for one of them to return his effort. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: Our sweet bi antihero 😞
> 
> It ~hurt~ to write that flashback. I'm two gin and tonics deep, so what's a third to drown my tears in~? 
> 
> Shoutout to PiscesKat, KittentheKat and rose427 for always leaving such thoughtful comments! You give me fuel to keep going!!


	6. Plans Always Changing, Always Rearranging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding gown sagged to the floor as Byleth stepped out of it; it was the ghost of someone else’s bright future.

“How are you faring?” 

“As well as can be expected,” Byleth grimaced, turning her face away from Ferdinand. If she saw the pitying look on his face she might lose it. 

Linhardt was, and will forever be, a sting in her chest. An empty ache. 

Funny how Ferdinand had asked right away. Claude hadn’t said _anything_ to comfort her although he _knew_. 

Perhaps... she was expecting too much of him. This relationship of theirs wasn’t built on the emotional, it was entirely transactional. 

As she raised her eyes, she caught Claude watching... her? Ferdinand? Them?--like he was watching something horrible unfold.

“I must admit, when your wedding invitation arrived it took me by complete surprise,” Ferdie continued, unaware. “Things happened rather quickly, didn’t they? You made no mention of Claude in our letters.”

She hadn’t mentioned Claude because Ferdinand put more stock in their bond than really existed--she didn’t share things with him like she did with Dedue or Felix. Byleth shrugged, worry for her new husband threatening to bubble out of her stomach.

“Well, one does what one must in the name of politics,” von Aegir continued to prattle on. At least he understood _that_ \--with his background, this type of arrangement was not uncommon at all. “He always did seem to inspire confidence among the Golden Deer, though we never spoke much. I’m sure he’ll prove an adept leader and kind husband.”

She could always count on Ferdinand to find the positive in a situation. As always, he talked entirely too much… but it was nice, even if he didn’t let her get much in edgewise. It’s how he showed he cared.

When Byleth returned to Claude’s side, she was breathless and warm from the final, rousing number Ferdinand had led her through.

Though he smiled politely at Ferdinand, he seemed _off_.

“Thank you for letting me borrow your lovely wife,” Ferdinand said brightly. “Congratulations on your union, I can’t imagine two more perfectly suited people.”

The false platitudes were a bit much. 

“Thank you, Ferdie,” Byleth offered. 

The elegant redhead gave a lingering look to Byleth and squeezed her hand in a parting gesture. And then Ferdinand von Aegir left them to themselves, wandering off to beckon some lucky guests for a properly stuffy noble dance. 

She turned her attention back to her partner. He was staring vacantly at the bustling dance floor. Byleth tugged on his sleeve. Claude roused from his trance with a shake of his head, smiling at her. She didn’t miss the wistful look in his eyes.

She had never seen him look so _sad_. 

“Claude?”

“You’ve got my attention,” he answered, focusing those quiet eyes on her. 

Byleth raised his hand to show him the ring Jeralt had given her mother, now sized to fit his much larger digits. It glittered prettily in the light. 

“The ring I gave you, and the one you gave me,” she smoothed her hand over his, so the jewelry was side by side. His face softened to reveal a genuine smile.

Claude von Riegan had always been a handsome person, but in this moment he was dizzyingly radiant. 

Such success in reaching through to him made Byleth weak. She had to reveal her feelings. Gathering his hands in hers, she smiled up at him as she had earlier in the day, when he’d snuck into her dressing room. She felt a lot better now than she had then; the ceremony had gone off without a hitch, and he was hers. 

“You are mine, and I am yours. I picked _you_. We’re here, together, and that won’t change. You’re everything I wanted.”

But after she uttered the last, _You’re everything I wanted,_ something in that gorgeous smile--his eyes--faltered. Even though her feelings were true, Byleth had fucked up.

“Is that so?” Claude asked anyway, sweeping her into his arms for another dance. He’d recovered so quickly, so seamlessly, she started to doubt she’d seen the gloss of disappointment at all. 

They danced for the rest of the evening, and she was a bit shocked when he began to whisper a plethora of lovely, sentimental things to her in Almyran. She responded in kind and sought him out for kiss after kiss. 

With enough moments like these, she could easily pretend this was real.

Like a pair of curiosities on display, they were escorted to eat their dinner on a raised platform, side by side. She’s too nervous to eat much. Byleth downed wine like it was water; the dry white is disgustingly acidic when consumed so quickly but it will keep her mind and her heart pleasantly dull against attacks from within, and pleasantly open to any effort Claude might put forth.

Her husband (her husband! _ah!_ ) gave her a _look_ when she emptied her glass a second time in the course of five minutes, but said nothing. As they finished their meal, she sought out his hand under the table. He did not pull away. 

Of all the ways this day could have gone, Byleth was happy he was in (mostly) good spirits. 

A flute of champagne was pressed into her palm and his; a toast is raised to the new couple. 

Byleth gives a short parting speech, they are finally, _finally_ allowed to leave. Whisked away by an escort of guards. 

She wheezed a sigh as soon as they were out of view, glad to be done with it. The shoes she wore had become too tight with all the dancing they’d done, and needed to come off _now_.

“Take me to bed,” Byleth commanded under her breath.

“Yes, _dear_ ,” Claude teased dryly, an arm around her waist as they wound their way up the stairwell together. At the halfway point she kicked the cursed shoes off and carried them with her, blissfully barefoot the rest of the way. She couldn’t see her feet with the skirt of her stupid fluffy dress in the way, but they felt puffy and hot against the cold stone floor.

The party will roar on without them. It isn’t about them and never was—the entire spectacle was for the sake of the democracy she’d established. The marriage of a political figurehead is a national morale boost. A married leader inspires confidence.

Even with the heavy door and the windows closed, they could hear the fray from inside Byleth’s apartment. 

Claude was ready to undress her, and started removing all the small pieces of finery that adorned her. Her crown, her veil, the various bits of jewelry, one by one, pressing kisses to her neck and shoulders in between. Byleth hummed appreciatively. 

Something started to gnaw at her. She wanted to be honest with him, no matter what. 

“I don’t expect you to love me,” she said unprompted, a sad resignation in her voice that even she didn’t expect until the words had freed themselves. “But I need you tonight.”

Claude’s lips curled mischievously against her ear, and he dangled his words as if they were a prize. “I don’t need to love you to _fuck_ you, Byleth.” 

Byleth’s hands flew over her mouth to stop an ugly, braying laugh. “Oh? You’re going to fuck me? Just like last week?” she jabbed back. 

Claude grew silent. As she turned, she caught a bright embarrassment painting itself all over his face. Another new emotion from him.

“... I’m sorry. It was my fault. I wanted you so badly I rushed everything.” She said in a soft apology. 

“Ah. Let’s finish getting you out of this dress.” 

“...You don’t want to talk about it?”

“Mmm. Not really.”

Sober Claude was disappointingly closed off. 

“I had a nice time, despite everything,” she admitted softly, her fingers playing idly at the fabric of her dress.

There were over two dozen buttons. His fingers were nimble but standing still on such swollen feet was an absolute chore after such a long day of dancing and merriment. 

“Just rip it,” she grumbled when he was halfway through, her patience worn thin. 

“I’m not gonna do _that_ ,” he said calmly. Was he slowing down to irritate her? Even without seeing his face, by his tone she could tell Claude was smiling. “It’d be a tragedy to ruin something that looks so good on you,” he purred, trailing the tip of his tongue down her spine. 

She shivered. Finally, he unfastened the last button and freed her from her jail. 

The wedding gown sagged to the floor as Byleth stepped out of it; it was the ghost of someone else’s bright future.

She pivoted to face him, melting onto his body. “Today was difficult.”

“I know. Multiple-bottles-of-wine difficult?”

Byleth hid her face against his neck. It was frustrating how observant he was, yet so inactive. Her strong hands smoothed down his back, then glided down to unwind the sash around his waist.

Brooking no fuss, Claude absently let her undress him as he pondered on their fate. 

Should he just go with the flow? The flow had brought him back to Fódlan, to her side, to this new chapter of his life, altering his timeline completely. But the longer he was here, the more he felt he shouldn’t be. Claude was a stand-in for the person--the people--she really wanted.

First had been Dimitri, whom they had both lost to cruel turns of fate, but she was still incredibly grief-stricken about Linhardt. 

...Why did he care? Her happiness (or lack thereof) didn’t change anything about the roles they had to play or what he’d get out of the arrangement. 

With the sash puddled on the floor, Byleth pushed his jacket from his shoulders and began the work of unbuttoning his shirt, starting from the bottom. She seemed so full of wonder as she gazed up at him, and it was far too easy to get lost in her emerald eyes. “You’re the one I’ve wanted, Claude. I searched for you for so long...”

Gods, it was hard to resist when she talked like this. Was it a half-baked lie, like her earlier admission of him being ‘everything she ever wanted’? He supposed it didn’t matter if it made him feel good. He dipped to kiss her brow.

“I intend on consummating our wedding tonight. I expect there will be no setbacks this time?” she asked, undoing the buttons on his cuffs. 

She had no idea how embarrassed he was about THE INCIDENT, did she? His shirt quickly joined his jacket on the floor. 

He flashed a charming smile. “None.”

With a few deft movements, he unclasped her bustier and let it fall to the floor, holding her close to savor the feeling of her bare skin on his. Squashing his insecurities somewhere deep inside, he kissed her with carefully constructed confidence, unhurried. 

Byleth savored the feel of his lingering tongue, and she began to let herself indulge in the fantasy that this was the way things should have been. A fantasy that Claude had been hers from the start, a student turned loyal friend turned lover. There to support one another during a brutal war, finally marrying after they’d settled into their roles and figured everything else out.

It was an optimistic dream and one she was going to chase until dawn shattered the illusion into a thousand ugly, sharp pieces. 

She undid the ties on his pants and pushed them off, he stepped out of them and kicked the garment away.

Finally he stood naked in front of her. They hadn’t quite gotten this far last time. His body was lean and tan, with few scars compared to her own body. 

Though, there were curious marks that encircled the left side of his body from his clavicle to the bottom of his ribcage. Sharp marks of varying sizes, left by a piercing weapon, but they were too uniform and too perfect. Tooth marks? The gears were grinding in her head as she brushed her fingertips over one of the gnarlier scars, trying to figure the injury out.

“Gronder,” was all that Claude offered up. 

“Ah.” Byleth answered lamely. She’d bring it up later.

She reclined on the bed; he followed, gliding over her body. Claude seemed comfortable taking the initiative so she left him to it. Hip to hip, he fluttered kisses over her neck and chest; Byleth was thankful he seemed more adventurous about touching her this time. His large, calloused hands cupped and kneaded her breasts with reverence, holding her gaze. He dipped his face between them and was generous with his tongue, suckling and biting on a nipple until she cried out for him to ease up. 

The moonlight caught Claude’s smile. “Stop? But we’re just getting started.” His eyes were dark with lust and she could feel the heat of his erection where it was pressed between them.

“I like it, but it’s a lot,” she conceded, shaking her head.

“Mmm,” he watched her face closely, tweaking the overly sensitive nipple with featherlight touches. Byleth couldn’t help the soft noises that escaped her or the way she writhed under him. “You seem to be handling it just fine,” Claude smirked, arrogance blossoming on his face.

She wasn’t sure she liked that attitude, but her body betrayed her. He nipped and bit at her soft skin, soothing the marks he made with his tongue. His attention wandered south; she made a lewd noise as he caressed the soft junction between her thighs. 

It was here Claude seemed to lose his bravado; holding Byleth’s gaze, his face had grown tender and serious.

It was here that Byleth lost her patience.

“I need you,” Byleth said and reached between them for his erection. It was thick and heavy in her small hand. She should give him more attention and in turn, demand more from him, but her impulsive nature had taken over. She enticed him to press himself into the heat between her thighs.

The sensation of being filled by another person made her gasp, her body arching into his as their hips came together. The shuddering sigh he made was just as sweet.

“You fit me well, my handsome stag,” Byleth sighed in satisfaction, coaxing him to rock his hips by guiding him into the rhythm. He averted his eyes and dropped his head to her shoulder, focused on matching her movements. 

“Ah,” he looked at her sideways through thick lashes. He was absolutely beautiful, and she felt like the center of his universe. She pressed her heels into the mattress and realigned her hips, tilting them up so he could hit the spot she knew would bring her the most pleasure. 

Her tongue flickered along the shell of his ear, her voice curling with need as she whispered, “ _Now_ I need you to _fuck_ me.”

The sound he made at her request was delicious. 

“Teach--Byleth--I--”

He hid his face again, this time in her hair, arching and crying into her as his body found release.

 _...Oh_.

For all his seduction and sweet words, he couldn’t even… _okay_. Byleth’s brain tried to reconcile the suave, flirtatious actions he often hounded her with, with the blasé performance she’d just experienced. It couldn’t, really.

“ _Shit_. I’m so sorry.” He sounded genuinely upset, and wouldn’t meet her eyes. She hadn’t expected that response, either. 

The friction had been undeniably pleasant, but they had a lot of work to do together.

“It’s ok, we have all the time in the world to learn what makes each other tick,” she soothed, stroking his hair. They pulled apart and he kissed her in apology, sheepish the entire time. Who _was_ this man?

Predictably, he soon fell asleep, his face tucked against her chest. She placed her hand on his cheek. He looked boyishly innocent, without a care in the world. Idly, she wished he would always be as sweet as he’d been this evening. 

She could deal with his sass, but when he showed outright contempt for her it was painful.

 _Why do I like you so much_ , she thought with a sigh. Between the long day, their emotionally taxing escapade and his warm body curled around hers, sleep claimed her quickly. 

* * *

In the middle of the night, Byleth’s eyes snapped open in a panic. 

_Claude isn’t here._

She groped underneath the covers of the large bed for any trace of him. His side was cold. They had been so wrapped in one another, yet she hadn’t noticed when he left. Had she really been _that_ drunk? Where had he gone? Was this a nightmare? She checked to make sure the ring he’d given her was still on her finger. Ah, it was still there--so at least that was real. 

“Claude!” she called out loudly, her voice echoing in the apartment. Byleth sounded pathetic to her own ears, mewling for him like a lost kitten looking for its mother. 

Byleth’s stomach drops as she senses the dreadful thrum of crest energy. An orange glow lights up the dark room; she winces away, shielding her eyes. As they adjust, she discovers Claude is standing at the foot of the bed, still naked. A relic is in his hands. Failnaught. He must have raided the archives at some point--she had gathered as many relics as she could and locked them all away for future generations to appreciate. Yet he’d so easily located them on the monastery grounds.

When Claude points the bow at her, every hair on her body stands on end. He is not wearing a quiver, but she can’t tell if he has an arrow or not. It is unfortunate, but Byleth does not trust him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. His accent was thick as he spoke in his mother tongue.

“Let’s go back to Almyra.”


	7. Going Through Your Phases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the face of it, a moon-long celebration of their union seemed like fun, but the reality was... it’s a lot of work. Makeup hid the dark circles under his eyes and the fingertip sized bruises she’d left on his throat. Carted along in a fancy carriage, waving and wearing a smile for the benefit of your adoring public, for hours? Surprisingly exhausting. Especially when your wife was mad at you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit themes are present as usual--HOWEVER--please see end notes for content warnings if you need 'em. Thanks and take care!

“What? _Why_ would we go back to Almyra? You’re here, there’s no reason to make another excursion.”

Byleth turned on the small lamp on her side of the bed and Claude could see the headache he was causing written all over her face. _Some_ of that was probably a hangover she was nursing. But mostly? The ramifications of his troublesome self, poised with Failnaught in hand.

“Did you go into the _archives_ like… _that_?” she gestured to his unclothed body. She winced and rubbed at her temples, though he was not sure it was because of his ridiculousness or the beginning of a hangover.

“Nah, I found it last week. Kept it in my room.” Claude said of the relic formerly passed down through his mother’s side of the family. It still meant he’d gone down the stairs and back again, but he really didn’t care if anyone had seen him.

He set the legendary bow aside to join her on the bed. Perched beside her, he took her left hand to thumb the underside of ring he’d given her just yesterday.

“I have to tell you something.”

Though he could not say he felt love for Byleth, he did feel… protective of her. Focused.

...He certainly didn’t hate her with the same untamed ferocity he had when she’d first found him, anyway. She was a good person and inexplicably selfless when it came to him, and he was using that to his advantage. All he had done was show up, and she’d made him the equivalent of a king; the democratic titles she insisted upon in her reformed Fódlan would not fool anyone.

Working with her so closely over the past weeks, he had grown to trust her more deeply than he’d trusted anyone. He’d spent an inordinate amount of effort testing her boundaries, through words, actions, inactions. She was consistent and kind, _even_ when he was purposefully not. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

“Claude, please, no shenanigans right now,” she pleaded, pained.

“None, I promise.”

Byleth grumbled, rubbing at bleary eyes with her free hand. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“I…”

 _I’m the crown prince of Almyra_ . It was a simple sentence. Yet the secret was _so_ incredibly dangerous. He had been poisoned, kidnapped, tortured, stabbed and left for dead over that one, small detail. 

“Claude, what is it?” He must’ve looked incredibly worried for her voice to be this gentle.

As if bound by a curse, the words would not leave his lips.

_The throne is my birthright, and you’ll be my queen._

The entire scenario played out in his head, her shock and eventual acceptance of his identity, the preparations they’d make together, the grand show of force they’d make, storming the palace in the capital. The stunned look upon his father’s face when they entered the throne room--

“Mmm?”

Byleth pawed gently at his chin, redirecting his focus to her emerald eyes. Her expression was loving and open.

He let go of her hand and looked away. “I read the letter Felix gave you.”

Oh, he was such a _coward_. But at least he’d planted the seed of returning to Almyra--that was the point of all this gamesmanship. Let her embrace the notion and own it, watch it blossom. There was still much to do together and as long as Byleth was fond of him, he would get exactly what he wanted. Claude knew how to bide his time.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you did.”

Byleth sounded tired of his shit and they hadn’t even been married for twenty-four hours. Eh. She knew what she was signing up for.

“It isn’t from Felix. It’s from Dedue.”

 _That_ roused her. She tried to sit up but doubled over and groaned, cradling her head. Claude felt bad for her. He’d been in the same situation just a week ago, but she'd been a much better nursemaid. 

… He should probably be a little kinder.

“Don’t move, stay here,” he said softly as he resigned himself to fetch her some water and pain relief tablets. He waited until she took the medicine and drained most of the glass before presenting her with Dedue’s letter.

The emotions that flickered across Byleth’s face interested him. He knew the contents already; there was nothing of particular interest to Claude. She and Dedue had obviously been corresponding for quite some time. She was so touched that she began to tear up. For someone as guarded as himself, he could appreciate how openly emotive Byleth had become.

Claude offered the box next, and she took care in opening it. Her large eyes grew wider still at the carefully packed contents; upon reading the note tucked inside, she started to cry openly. 

“He’s so thoughtful. They’re traditional earrings for married couples,” she explained through her happy tears, tipping the box so he could see the fine gold earrings. There was one large emblem for him, and a slightly smaller matching pair for Byleth. She lifted the larger earring out of the box. “May I?”

Claude agreed with a nod, and she replaced his earring with the larger Duscurian one. It was much lighter than it looked. Once she’d fastened it in place, Byleth curled her fingers under his chin to look at him from all angles. “It looks handsome on you.”

“I make most things look good,” he said, gazing smugly at her through his lashes. 

“You’re right,” she agreed with one of those sweet little smiles of hers, and Claude grew awkward. So he said nothing, instead helping her with her earrings in a small, intimate gesture. As soon as they were affixed Byleth sat up primly, tossing her bangs from her eyes with a shake of her head. The earrings glittered in the lamplight. 

“Well?”

The motifs of Duscur were not so different from some of those still used in Almyra’s westernmost regions. Perhaps both cultures shared a distant ancestor. Something about the design screamed royalty to Claude, and in his eyes Byleth looked every bit the part of a queen. A warrior queen, of course, strong and willful, kissed by the power of a goddess from the strange land of Fódlan--

“...Do they suit me?” she prompted again gently, pretty and expectant.

Claude had been staring in the midst of his fantasy. He’d just entertained so many sweet thoughts about her. 

“They’re fine,” he said more coldly than intended, averting his eyes. Why had he blurted out something thoughtless? He could _feel_ her disappointment but he was too stubborn to apologize. At this point it would come off as insincere anyway. Oh well.

Obviously hurt, Byleth sighed. “Why do you--”

Silencing her with a kiss was a cheap way out of the conversation and he went for it. Byleth hummed in annoyance but didn’t push him away, and returned the slow, tender kisses with a growing hunger.

That focused feeling from moments before had returned. Yet now he wanted to _consume_ her, his need filling low in his body. He cupped her skull, hands tugging and tangling in her hair. 

It was Claude’s turn to burble a surprised note as she slid a hand between his thighs, squeezing him firmly. 

“Aren’t we an eager student,” Byleth appraised, working him to full attention. He watched her face, focused and dignified. Watched her hands, small and warm, working the length of him. 

“For you, always,” he panted, nosing in for another kiss. Claude had always wanted her. Whether that desire was a lust for power or lust for lust’s sake, it didn’t matter. His hands settled around her ribcage possessively.

The pleasure had begun to coil, to tighten, to fill him. Claude’s eyes slid closed to focus on the sensation she was creating, and he was unable to keep quiet as she drew him closer to the edge.

“Teach,” he moaned, his head rolling back. She took the chance to suck at his throat. Her cadence quickened and his hips jerked by instinct. 

And then Byleth stopped. He was greeted by a most devilish look on her face. The heat of her hand lingered over him.

“...Teach? I was close,” Claude whined, his fingers curling tightly into her flesh.

“Oh, Claude. Reduced to begging?” she said pridefully. “Uh-uh. Ladies come first,” Byleth continued to chastise him. She took her time in bringing him down from the edge, ignoring any protests by nosing him for soft kisses. 

“Noted,” he managed between breaths. 

“Lay back,” she ordered as she emerged entirely from beneath the covers; he compiled wordlessly.

In the dim light they tussled, trying to fit together. They knocked knees. Byleth caught his chin with an elbow. Claude yelped then laughed awkwardly. “Byleth, I--”

“Stop talking. Stay still,” she ordered, annoyed. Her hands smoothed over his body as she found him in the dim light. His stomach, his chest, his neck. Byleth cradled his body as she pressed onto him, slick and tight, and heaved a sigh of relief. The heat of her was exquisite. 

Even the slightest of her movements began to rebuild that coiling pressure in his body; Claude was neatly overwhelmed when she started rocking over his hips. In the low light her eyes glowed; he’s awed by the flashes of power he saw and _felt_ in her. 

He was woefully unversed in her dance and found her rhythm difficult to match. He rocked underneath her and she slickly changed pace to match him instead. In the lamplight she’s but a soft-edged silhouette, body firm yet yielding. She demanded his utmost attention and his broad hands were eager to provide.

Her core grew tight around him. Utterly entranced, Claude watched as an orgasm blossomed on her face, her beautiful eyes fluttering shut. His name tumbled from her lips, her nails gouged his chest and finally Byleth’s body arched against his. “Oh, Claude,” she cried more softly, panting as she continued to rock. “I--”

His fingers tangled in her pale hair as he curled up to kiss her. She cried into his mouth just as she found relief in him again. The pressure in his body found a release as he came with her, holding her tight.

Claude was dropped into a pool of his emotions, the depth of his desire for Byleth thrilling and terrifying him. Yet he had no energy to do anything except flop back onto the bed, entranced by her. He whined in discomfort as she continued to use his body, face twitching. That seemed to do it for Byleth--her breath hitched on a sigh as she found release a third time, holding eye contact as she contracted again and again.

She was beautiful and he wanted to be with no other. 

Utterly satisfied, she slumped her full weight against Claude. He relished in their sweat slicked skin, gliding his hands over her shoulders, down her back. He cupped her backside briefly before they disentangled from each other, but she is not so quick to let him go. Her fingers tugged at his hair, directing his attention to her and her alone. He felt spoiled by her soft gaze and even softer kisses as they relished in the afterglow.

Claude traced her lower lip. She’s languid and lovely.

He’ll savor this memory.

“How’s that headache?”

She laughed lightly, then grew tender. “Awful. But... I’m with you.”

Byleth’s tone made his heart throb in a strange, nostalgic sorrow. Claude tucked his fingers against her cheek and she nuzzled against them, kissing his palm. Was _he_ truly the cause of her happiness? She pressed her face against his neck, tracing lazy circles through his chest hair until she fell asleep.

Claude wasn’t sure what to do with the emotions churning in his heart.

\--

The early morning sun stirred Claude awake. The room was too cold for his taste and he didn’t want to leave the bed, and so he wound the thick duvet around his body. Byleth burrowed in beside him, but before he could welcome her into his arms she darted a small hand into his armpit. It was like ice. “Why’d you do that?” he demanded with a hiss.

“You keep talking the covers and I’ve had _enough_ ,” she informed him, lodging her other frigid hand in his most sensitive area. He howled. Byleth cackled. They wrestled, the duvet falling carelessly on the floor before she pinned him to the mattress, grinning wildly.

“I see you’re feeling better,” Claude stared up at her, breathless. Byleth was pleased with herself and wasted no time in curling her body against his, seeking out affection and warmth but mostly, warmth. He threw an arm over the side of the bed in a blind hunt for the heavy blanket and pulled it over the two of them.

“Sort of. I’ve been awake for hours,” she admitted with some frustration, burying her face against his chest. _Hours?_ That was mildy concerning. Claude hummed to let her know he was listening. Her lips tickled his skin when she said next, “My mind keeps latching onto the same thought… I wish we could visit Dedue.”

“Well... why can’t we?”

Claude saw no issue with it. She didn’t have any friends here at the monastery; Felix didn’t seem terribly close to her, neither did Ferdiand. Just by the way Dedue had composed his letter, he could tell they had been happily corresponding for a long time.

Byleth sighed, a hint of frustration in her voice. “You keep suggesting things like we can drop our responsibilities whenever we’d like. You know there’s no time. There is much to be done.”

Indeed, they had planned for only one day to themselves after the wedding, and tomorrow it would be back to the stacks of paperwork that circulated in and out from around the country. There were daily meetings with a rotating cast of visiting officials, and tasks to be delegated. Byleth was obviously conflicted.

“Hmm.” 

They laid on the flat of their backs in comfortable silence for a long time. Under the blanket, Claude sought out her hand and she folded her fingers between his. The return of affection, however small, warmed him.

After some absent thought exercises a notion passed through his mind. “What do you think if we… ah.”

Byleth turned toward him, a sparkle in her eye. “Yes? What are you scheming?”

“...What if we _made_ a reason? Hear me out,” he started, stealing a glance at her. Skepticism was etched on her face but she nodded. “Perhaps we could stage a tour of each major city to celebrate our union. It’d boost morale, _and_ I’d get to see this wonderful new Fódlan you’ve built.” 

“That’s rather romantic, Claude.” Byleth said quietly, apparently humbled by his praise. A pink blush crept over her cheeks. “I’m not so sure we’d be able to pull together such a grand plan,” she admitted with soft defeat, getting up to kiss him before she peeled herself out of bed. “Let’s shower.”

“Is that a no?” Claude called after her. He didn’t mind the view. 

“It’s a ‘convince me,’” she called over her shoulder, smirking when she caught the way he was watching her.

Under a pounding stream of hot water they lathered up, then excitedly discussed his nebulous idea, stealing touches and kisses in between. Byleth pulled the plan apart from every conceivable angle and he rebuffed her, offering new ideas and rehashing others, until they both begin to uncover a solution. Claude is entertained and excited. 

She changed into casual attire after their shower--a pair of slacks and a loose black blouse that let him drink in the sight of her bosom. With his quarters the wind of a starwell away, he lazily borrowed her robe.

Byleth sat beside him at the table, pouring over an extended map of Fódlan which included more realistic projections of Bridgid, Dagda and Almyra.

He hadn’t meant to tune her out, but halfway through Byleth’s explanation of the proposed tour itinerary he noticed something curious. Though the scale was off, the Almyran side was filled with Byleth’s tiny, sloppy handwriting. Dozens of towns had been crossed out, notes scrawled underneath each. Scanning a few, Claude realized they were from her search to find him. Every time he found evidence of her investigation, he was unsure how to feel.

“We can set meetings with local officials for a day or two afterward,” she said.

Claude perked up and slipped back into the conversation without missing a beat. “Exactly! You get me, Teach.”

The entirety of Garland Moon would be reserved for the task; as it was currently Great Tree Moon, the timeline for such preparations would be tight but doable. And with the national tradition of garland making and gifting during that particular moon, it was fittingly romantic. Such Fódlani traditions weren’t very important to Byleth (and completely unimportant to Claude), but the populace would love it. 

“I feel really good about this,” Byleth said as Claude transcribed their scattered, messy notes into a more formal document. She hung over his shoulder and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Claude’s heart skipped a beat.

So. Married life was off to a splendid start.

The next morning he dropped the proposal off to be finessed by their bookkeeper, who’s aide returned it shortly before lunch. The cost of hosting various politicians at the monastery over the next few months versus the cost of meeting them while on the road was not _that_ much different. 

Not wanting to divert his pre-arranged meetings in order to entertain Byleth’s whim, Claude took a light lunch in his office to rework the budget.

It was difficult to skim coin from any particular area. Even with the most minimal of staff on hand, the cost of keeping knights on an extended journey was high. Room and board for all needed to be accounted for, as well as the associated cost of maintaining horses, carriages and wyverns for an extended period of time while on the road. 

Late in the day Claude received the final estimate, which wasn’t much smaller. That was the nature of the beast--they would be a tiny mobile township carting around the most important person in Fódlan. 

Feeling confident, he slipped into Byleth’s office between afternoon meetings to give her the news. 

“We can do it. You still in?” He asked. Byleth’s eyes searched his face and she smiled. The hair on the nape of his neck prickled at the glow of joy that radiated from his wife. 

“Yes.”

Claude’s smile broadened to match hers. “Consider it done.”

And so the tour proposal was set into motion. Claude put himself in charge of delegating tasks so Byleth didn’t have to worry about a thing. It was extra work but he didn’t mind.

Life moved forward day by day, week by week. 

They’ve been making love every day since their wedding night, often twice, sometimes three times. Byleth… well, she’s insatiable. Claude is happy to be under her tutelage. 

But as the buzz from their wedding celebration dissolved into memory, Byleth began to grow distant. The gradual detachment manifested in small ways. She was less chatty at meals. Fewer reaches for his hand. No effort to spend time together unless he encouraged it. 

One evening it came to a head. She hadn’t initiated any kind of physical contact for days and shied away when Claude tried to grace her brow with a kiss. He worked to be extra considerate and found it less taxing than before, but his success rate was confusingly lower.

Even a late-night invitation to sit fireside and read in companionable silence--the perfect together-but-apart activity, in his opinion--had been rejected with indifference.

“Sure. Suit yourself,” he said, unfussed. With one leg slung over the arm of the wing chair he occupied, he tucked into his book with gusto. He supposed she would occupy herself elsewhere. 

Hours passed.

“I don’t think I can deal with you right now.” Byleth’s melancholic voice rose from the other side of the archbishop’s quarters, muffled by the pillow she’d pressed her face into.

“...You’ve been awake all this time?”

Claude was so blindsided by the sadness in her voice he could only laugh nervously. 

It seemed that while he’d been enjoying a riveting volume on the subject of permafrost ecosystems in Faerghus and Duscur, Byleth had plunged into a pool of despair so deep he doubted she could see the bottom.

The book was abandoned to the coffee table.

Curiously, it was a similar sentiment to the one she’d made weeks before, directly after THE INCIDENT. Unfortunately for Byleth, he had no reason to tuck his tail this time. They were going to talk even if their conversation hit walls at first.

She laid listless on the bed, her back to him. She seemed so deflated. It was worrying.

“Did I say something careless again?” Claude circled the large canopy bed, careful to pin the blame for any misdeed on himself. Their eyes met for a second as he carefully laid beside her, but she was otherwise avoidant. 

“Please… go away,” she said in pained defeat, tucking her face in the other direction.

Okay, that didn’t work. Time for a self-effacing joke.

“Then tell me… is the sex _that_ terrible?” Claude asked playfully. He paused for her reaction and frowned when none came. “...Not even a snicker? Ouch.” 

“...Leave,” came her half-hearted, muffled reply.

When the usual approaches didn’t work, Claude found himself unsure about how best to comfort his wife. So they laid in silence, and hoped the opening it’d provide might encourage Byleth to say something.

It did not. 

“Hate to break it to ya,” he finally spoke up, “but we got married, so…. I’m not leaving your side this time.”

Her frame heaved a tremendous sigh, her frustrated voice hitching on a sob. “ _Claude_.”

“Ok, ok, I’ll sleep on the sofa--”

A hand hooked onto the hem of his shirt. She refused to look him in the eye, and pulled him close as she cried. She cried until the fire was but a pile of glowing embers. Cried and cried until finally, she passed out in his arms.

Morning met them with the bright cheer of birds peeping outside, but the mood in the room was anything but cheerful.

Not wanting to disturb the fragile spell sleep had cast on her, he carefully disentangled himself to place a light blanket over her. The plan backfired--as soon as he moved, she was up. By instinct she rubbed at her eyes; her face was _so_ puffy. Claude felt terrible for her.

Byleth tried to pull herself out of bed but it was obvious whatever turmoil was in her head had taxed her body as well.

“Rest. I’ll take care of things.”

“I can’t let you do that--oof.”

She slumped back among the pillows, cradling her face.

“At least take half the day off?” He suggested gently. “I’ll have breakfast sent up.”

“I can’t, I have a meeting with the Gloucester county representative this morning, and--” 

“Ah. Their reputation still precedes them,” Claude finished her sentence with a grimace. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. They were under my jurisdiction once, I’m sure we can find common ground.”

They bickered for a few moments more but finally she conceded. 

As anticipated, the Gloucester county rep had been somewhat troublesome, but happy to work with Claude in the end. 

The full burden of Byleth’s work combined with his own was astounding--and he was only stepping in for a morning. How on earth had she done this on her own for so many years? Pure obstinance? 

By noon, she still hadn’t made it downstairs to her office.

He personally delivered soup to her at lunchtime. The toast and tea he’d had sent up earlier was still on its tray at the foot of the bed, cold and untouched. Gently he woke her and convinced her to eat a little. However, she didn’t want to talk. 

The following days were trying. He had to work late to complete her tasks, but any spare moment he had was spent with Byleth.

Unable to articulate her feelings, she laid in despair. Any meals he wasn’t personally present for were ignored; even if he _was_ there she only took a few bites at most. But she wanted him in her bed at night like a child needing a stuffed animal, and she’d fall apart if he tried to leave without explanation, even for something as basic as using the toilet. 

Difficult though it was, Claude tried not to take anything personally and did his best to pick up the slack, ensuring she wouldn’t return to an unholy mess of papers stacked on her desk… _just_ a little one. 

By the fifth day, Claude was running on fumes and his patience with some of Byleth’s staff was wearing thin. The extra workload and nights of poor sleep had taken their toll. He’d been awake for hours with stress and worry, finally falling asleep as the sun came up.

He had perhaps gotten a scant hour or two of shut-eye before the mattress shifted. Claude was groggy and drooling as he peeled his face from the pillow, not a debonair bone in his body.

“Byleth?” he croaked, scanning the room.

Pipes squeaked to a start. Throwing the covers aside, Claude rushed to the bathroom. 

Byleth was perfectly still under the showerhead, head hanging forward as the hot water pounded over her. She was still a subdued shadow of herself, but she was out of bed and here on her own volition. That was a victory. 

“May I?” 

After he stepped into the shower, Byleth leaned against him with so much weight that he almost tumbled backwards. “Whoa there,” he laughed lightly, grasping her shoulders to steady them both.

Byleth murmured something, wearing a cheerless smile as she stared at the shower wall.

It was hard to hear her above the sound of the shower beating down. He closed the space between them and tucked her cheek against his neck. “What is it, darling?”

“… I miss Lin.”

“Ah.”

Of course Linhardt been the cause of her melancholic episode. He pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear before whispering, “I’m sure you’ll always miss him, Byleth.” 

His heart ached for her, truly--but a seed of jealousy had begun to root. 

She hugged him back so tightly that he thought his ribs might crack. “You’re kind, Claude.”

“I’m reeeally _not_ ,” he eked, turning his face away. 

She wouldn’t hear it. Byleth pressed him for affection until the water ran cold. 

They eased back into their regular cadence at work. That first day was unforgiving. There was too much for her to catch up on in a day and he was just _so_ tired from it all. They passed out without taking their evening meal and made up for it by eating far too much at breakfast. She even mustered the effort to verbally jab him.

He had missed her.

* * *

Tomorrow began their excursion around Fódlan for a moon-long celebration of their union.

Yet Claude is _bored._ Everything he needed for the journey had been packed. All last minute engagements had been met. Stacks of books surrounded him, but even a new volume on the fungi of Brigid did not sustain his interest. All remaining thoughts obsessively led to Byleth. 

Abandoning his quarters, he struck out for hers, but he didn’t even have to go _that_ far to find her. As he turned to take the stairs he noticed the door of her office was ajar, lamplight spilling warm onto the reception room carpet. Claude sighed. 

The door clicked shut behind him.

“... _Why_ are you working right now?”

Her large eyes swept upward and she stared like a cat caught licking the butter.

“Nothing urgent. I thought I’d make short work of it,” Byleth said sheepishly. She shuffled all the paperwork back into its folder then leaned back to stretch her neck and shoulders. Claude did not miss the cascade of cracking and popping noises. 

She’d been passing on her morning training sessions in order to work ahead. While they’d be able to work on the road, there were loose ends at the monastery that needed to be accounted for before they left. 

“The day is over. I’ll take care of it before we leave tomorrow,” Claude chastised, sliding the folder out of reach before she could protest. 

“I... was almost done with it,” she defended weakly, shaking her head. 

“You seem _truly_ heartbroken, my darling.”

Byleth turned all attention to her husband, rising to meet him. Her strong arms slipped around his waist, and the sneaky smile on her upturned face was extremely cute. “Utterly. You _must_ make it up to me.”

“Oh?” He gave her a devilish grin. He wouldn’t be bored much longer. 

Byleth occupied most of his waking thoughts. The bountiful curve of her breast, the tuck of her waist, the little dimples that appeared when she’s absolutely tickled by his stupid comments (and the scowl she made when she’s not), the little noises she makes when he touches her. The cute face she makes when she’s stumped....

...He was absolutely _not_ in love.

“A-ah, you’re so good now,” she praised, her fingers coiling through his hair as he nuzzled between her legs, lapping at her core. She panted as he carefully inserted one finger, then a second, stroking at the spot that he knew drove her wild. In this moment he wanted nothing more than to please her.

...Absolutely _not_ love.

Her pale hair stuck to her sweat-slicked forehead, and she panted as she came down from the high he’d given her. Even so, she was a mite impatient; Claude wanted to take his time. He pressed into her with a soft sigh and held still, enjoying the sensation of being utterly engulfed by her.

Byleth raised her palm to his cheek and he turned to kiss the delicate skin on her wrist. Holding her gaze, Claude kissed her fingertips one by one. 

She said his name so softly it was almost a breath. The smile she rewarded him with made his chest swell.

… Absolutely, Claude von Riegan was in love.

* * *

Wyverns screeched overhead while the trumpeting of heralds on the street below preceded the Unifer’s appearance. White petals showered down on them from the rooftops, and roaring crowds waved pennants bearing the Crest of Flames along the entire parade route.

Thousands of happy people had poured along the streets to greet them. 

A half dozen horses pulled their flower-adorned carriage down the lamp-lined main promenade of Fhirdiad; the couple stood side by side in their finest regalia, their heads crowned with rosebud garlands.

On the face of it, a moon-long celebration of their union _seemed_ like fun, but the reality was... it’s work. Makeup hid the dark circles under his eyes and the fingertip sized bruises she’d left on his throat. Carted along in a fancy carriage, waving and wearing a smile for the benefit of your adoring public, for hours? Surprisingly exhausting. _Especially_ when your wife was mad at you.

The mindless task of waving and smiling let his mind drift to the post-coital argument they’d had days before their arrival in the former capital of Faerghus.

_Their tent was at the center of the encampment, and though they’d been given a healthy radius for privacy’s sake, concealing their more passionate outbursts was near impossible. This was true when they made love, and truer when things were amiss._

_Tonight, they were quite amiss._

_The pleasure they’d shared had soured and they struck at each other in harsh whispers._

_With his broad back to her, Claude did his best to keep his voice controlled, but a rising edge of hurt made it waver._

_“... Am I just something to warm your bed? Do you even care for me?” he said in Almyran._

_If he had been a stronger man, perhaps he would have let his tears fall to show her just how hurt he was. But from a young age Claude had learned not to cry in front of others, and he would not start in front of Byleth._

_“Would I have bothered learning your mother tongue if I didn’t?” Byleth answered fiercely in kind, gathering a sheet around her torso. Lamplight etched lines of concern on her brow._

_Well, no, of course she wouldn’t. But hearing another name fall from her trembling lips as they’d made love only fed his blossoming jealousy._

_“Claude, I want_ **_you_** _.”_

_“Then act like I’m here,” he ached, turning away from her again._

_“You’re absolutely_ **_not_ ** _here. I can’t seem to get through to you,” Byleth said._

_He heaved a tired sigh. Was it not plain that he adored her?_

_She was fraught with anguish as the argument wore on, yet Claude was so ruffled he could not help but jab her when she was down._

_“Shouldn’t matter since I’m obviously stand-in for a dead man,” he spat back._

_He regretted the words as soon as he’d said them._

_A deep pain crossed her face, an emotion that he’d only seen when she’d been openly grieving Linhardt. His careless words had broken her._

_“You’re a cruel person, Claude von Riegan.”_

_“Heh.” Claude did not deny it, and he did not try to defend himself either. His silence seemed to infuriate her._

_“Leave,” she said in a commanding tone he had heard only once before, in that tiny, dusty room in Almyra._

_“Leave me!” she boomed, loud enough that the entire encampment must have heard. He grabbed his trousers and nothing else, then stumbled in the dark while clothing himself. One of the knights met him halfway across the yard--concerned the couple might be in danger. Well, concerned about Byleth._ **_She_ ** _was the indispensable one._

_The next morning he was greeted with hushed whispers and pitying looks. It was a bit reminiscent of multiple periods in his life he’d hoped to forget. It set him on edge._

_They shared breakfast but not conversation. Before she pushed her empty plate away, Byleth said, “We will have separate tents from now on.”_

_Claude had to hide his shock. Her arrows pierced his heart so easily. If that was the mood she wanted to play at, he would match._

_“Whatever you desire, your Grace,” he responded cooly, refusing to meet her eyes._

_Camp was efficiently dismantled, and by horseback the procession would move northward until sunset. Byleth refused to ride beside him. She took her meals apart from him and avoided interacting if it was not required. He certainly deserved it but that didn’t make it any less lonely._

_As she had requested, two smaller tents had been set up in the center of the encampment that evening. All of his belongings had been neatly separated from hers._

_It scared Claude how quickly and easily his paranoia returned. The old, small blade he palmed under his pillow had been a truer friend than most of the people he’d met in his lifetime._

_Despite his fear, his heart ached. Byleth had been a comforting, warm presence and he had grown to trust her. The emotional betrayal would be raw for a long time, but he’d fucked up badly. Every serious conflict he’d faced in his lifetime he’d run away from._

_This time he did not want to run. He wanted to fix things but didn’t quite know how._

_Claude could hear Byleth’s sorrowful wailing from his tent. He left his cot twice with the desire to console her but ended up back under the covers each time._

_She had made it quite clear she needed space._

_Meanwhile, he resented dead men for taking up space in her heart. It was completely unreasonable--selfish of him, really--to expect her to forget. After all, he had his own lost love._

_Thoughts like this circled inside his head until he was too tired to think anymore. The camp had settled into silence. The comforting sound of summer insects buzzing and chirping helped lull him. He would not sleep well tonight, but he did fall asleep._

_The hair on the back of his neck prickled and his eyes flew open. The moon was a sliver and provided no help; his tent was almost pitch black. Someone was circling the tent, gliding through long grass. He palmed the handle of his dagger, ready to strike--but a familiar voice struck paralyzing fear into him._

_“Claude.”_

_Her green eyes flashed open and she honed in on him like a wyvern hunting its prey._

_She rushed him like a spectre, her nightgown swirling around her. Brawling was not his forte; she caught him by the wrist and threw him down without much trouble. He’d bluffed her from the start---even in her dusty little Almyran hotel room moons ago, he would’ve stood no chance if she had taken his threat seriously, and his back meeting the cold dirt of the Tailtean plain was the proof._

_She’d knocked the wind out of him and he was unable to speak, but his heart was hammering in his chest._

_Byleth straddled his abdomen, her strong thighs threatening to crack his ribs. A blade stung where she pressed it lightly against his throat. Ever the resourceful merc, she must’ve picked up Claude’s knife as soon as it left his hand._

_He gasped at the sensation._

_“You like that, don’t you? I remember how you were in Almyra.” Byleth’s contemptuous voice was hot in his ear as she dragged the blunt edge of it upwards._

_He rewarded her with another moan. Ah. Shit. She was thrilling._

_She set her weight back against his hips experimentally, gyrating when she discovered his arousal. “Ah, you_ **_do_ ** _like that.”_

_The knife scraped as Byleth stabbed it into the gravelly soil. She pressed close and bit at his lower lip. He yowled. That was gonna bruise._

_“If you’re so convinced you’re just a warm body to me, I will_ **_gladly_ ** _use you,” she breathed, tugging down his pants before she slotted over him._

The carriage jostled over a dip in the cobblestone street, lurching him forward. Claude coughed lightly in the effort to fade the lust that heated him. His wife was staring out the window absently at the moat they were passing over, craning her neck to watch a pair of black swans.

As soon as they hit the end of the parade route she’d dropped his hand like hot lead and recused herself to her side of the wide carriage seat. 

They passed through the cavernous gatehouse to the outer bailey, rolling along a black gravel path. _Nothing_ grew here except moss and lots of it. 

So _this_ was the ancestral castle of the Blaiddyd family. Claude craned his head back to take in the sheer scale of the black granite walls. Each block was at least as large as the carriage in which they’d arrived. Truly an impressive feat of engineering, though bleak. It made the monastery look downright festive. 

Converted into a museum a few years ago, the castle proved to be a popular tourist attraction. Tragedy was a perennially popular theme, and Dimitri’s story was _exactly_ that.

A small flock of docents and the mayor of Fhirdiad were waiting to greet them at the gate to the inner bailey. Claude dreaded this entire ordeal, but it was time to put that smile back on.

The Unifier stepped out first; he followed. Hand in hand, they greeted the group who had ventured out to meet them with all the graciousness of a royal couple.

It wasn’t until they stepped foot inside the castle museum with the head docent that Claude’s chest tightened in a way he hadn’t expected.

_This isn’t right. Dimitri should be here._

“We’re so happy to have you,” their guide greeted them both, then chatted with Byleth. She was courteous as always but Claude could sense her unease. He guessed she felt the same sick feeling.

They sidestepped the major exhibitions by passing into what must have once been a service corridor. They walked for quite some time until they reached what Claude guessed was the center of the castle, then they proceeded to take many, many stairs to the keep. 

“Ah, here we are--the royal family’s chambers.”

Their guide fumbled through his pockets to reveal an ornate silver key, unlocking the heavy door at the top of the stairwell. It was a lushly appointed apartment, steeped in furs and deep blue swags of velvet over the windows. Claude noticed their bags were waiting for them by the fireplace. Everything had been carefully accounted for.

There were all sorts of mundane items on display under glass along the walls. They may have made things homey as possible for their guests but it was still an exhibit.

“The museum is closed to visitors until your departure from Fhirdiad. You and your staff have full run of the castle. Please do not hesitate to let us know if you need anything at all...”

Byleth thanked the docent sincerely.

Once the door clicked shut, she dropped Claude’s hand and all pretense of being in love. It stung no matter how many times it happened. Did he deserve it? Yes... no. Maybe?

It didn’t matter how he felt if she refused to talk about it.

So he filled the void with idle chatter.

“What a gift, huh?” Claude scanned the room and turned to his wife, grimacing painfully. “I wish we could’ve figured out a way to say no.”

While it should have been a pleasant respite from their days on the road, Claude felt there was nothing to celebrate here. In fact, he found it deeply distasteful they’d been offered such a ‘privilege’ at all, but neither of them could figure out a way to refuse without causing offense.

“I _don’t_ like this,” Byleth whispered shakily.

He yearned to comfort her as much as he wanted comfort and dared to slide an arm around her waist. It was the first non-sexual contact they’d had in private in _days_.

Byleth pulled away again, in _no_ mood for softness.

“I have to be alone right now,” she said, distracted by the rooms that lay beyond. 

Claude murmured an apology to her retreating figure, but he doubted she heard him. She was consumed by her thoughts. Everyone handles grief differently, after all.

...Claude wasn’t sure if he’d ever addressed his own grief concerning Dimitri. Hmm.

He left the family room in the opposite direction and found himself in a small reception room. 

A family portrait loomed larger than life over the fireplace. In it, a young, round-faced Dimitri stood next to his father--Lambert. The Dimitri that Claude had known looked eerily like the former King of Faerghus. Next to the King, a woman and a brown-haired girl around the same age as Dimitri... Edelgard? By process of elimination, that woman must be her mother. The placard on the wall confirmed his suspicions. 

Everyone in the painting had died in the last two decades. What an awful, bloody world they’d all been born into. Claude shook his head and left for another room.

War was still glorified in the exhibits he passed through. Weapons everywhere, mantras of ages past. Piety. Honor. Justice.

As long as he lived, he would see to it that there would be no more war. War under the guise of upholding religion was particularly distasteful. 

So he too wandered the halls of the castle museum of Fhirdiad. It was large enough they never crossed paths. Claude found himself downstairs, where the main attractions were.

The central exhibition led visitors through the story of a royal tragedy described in three parts: 

_Part One_ : King Lambert losing his beloved wife.

 _Part Two_ : Prince Dimitri losing many during the siege at Duscur.

 _Part Three_ : The Kingdom of Faerghus losing Prince Dimitri.

He wondered which things had been true, and which had been doctored to make the past seem a little more… convenient. Clean. Palatable. 

Claude never managed to get Dimitri to spill his deepest secrets. The crown prince had always been too quick to apologize about sharing the “burden” of his thoughts. Yet, some of the exhibit placards lined up with tidbits Dimitri had fed him so many years ago.

At the end of the hall was a tall showcase, obviously a centerpiece of the museum’s collection. 

A velvet drape covered it, deep blue like most everything else made of fabric in this castle.

The carpet in this section was plush underfoot. _This_ must be their crown jewel.

It made him ill with curiosity.

Claude carefully stepped over the velvet ropes that cordoned the showcase off from the rest of the curio-filled room. 

Yet his prickling excitement turned to an astringent trepidation rising his throat. There was a strange energy surrounding the display case and he wasn’t sure if he should press on or retreat.

After some hesitation, he ignored his gut instinct. He _had_ to see what was inside.

Lifting the hem of the drape just a foot or so, he discovered a pair of worn leather boots, the shafts covered in black and white fur.

The sounds of war colored his vision. The taste of smoke and blood in the air. The weight of comrades falling, taking their toll on his heart. 

The shape of a beloved friend hunched in a clearing, unmoving.

“...I can’t do this.” 

Claude dropped the curtain and turned heel, memories haunting him the entire way back to the castle keep. 

Byleth was waiting, pink cheeked and weepy eyed. She’d stoked a fire to life in his absence--how long had he been gone? As soon as he joined her on the sofa she pressed a champagne flute in his hand. It was filled obscenely close to the brim.

He knew this routine by now. In fact, he welcomed it.

“Wanna talk?”

“Yeah.”

This would be the first time they’ve _really_ delved into it. Their drunken confessions a few moons ago were shallow and sweet. It would not be so straightforward this time.

“All right. I’ll start.” Their glasses met in a somber toast before he took a sip. “So it seems the Blaiddyd bloodline is now a tourist attraction. _Kind_ of fucked.”

“... There is so much pain here,” Byleth finally said, turning reddened eyes to Claude. “And _everything_ is about honor and sacrifice.”

She looked incredibly distressed and he longed to hold her. But he wasn’t gonna push her again so soon.

“You noticed that too, huh. It’s worse than the Blue Lions kids let on. The culture of Faerghus really was something else.”

It was difficult not to feel emotional, surrounded by the remnants of their ~~friend~~ ~~crush~~ ex-lover’s former life. Remnants of classmates’ lives. 

Claude was outright shocked when she leaned against his side. It was more of a slump, really. 

“...Is this okay?” she asked. 

“More than,” Claude rested an arm over her shoulders. If they can’t resolve their immediate problems, perhaps bonding over a shared sorrow would do. He nuzzled into her hair and sighed.

They shared all sorts of details they’d picked up while wandering the halls, but danced around mentioning Dimitri outright. They both seemed to know it was too tender… or they were just too sober.

They talked about what they’d seen here, about the prince of Faerghus’ classmates--their allies--and finally they were both deep enough in their cups to talk about Dimitri himself.

“Dimi was always gentle with me, even when the princely mask began to slip,” Byleth shared. The warmth in her voice was affecting. “He was a comforting presence when father passed away.”

“Dimi, huh? Cute,” he smiled wistfully, thinking of his own nickname for Dimitri. He vaguely remembered the empty condolences _he’d_ given Byleth when Jeralt died. “That guy was always wearing his heart on his sleeve.”

Byleth looked at Claude for a lingering moment, then stared into the dancing fire. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

 _Yikes._ She said so much with just a gaze. 

They sat there companionably for a long time.

Claude’s mind began to tip backwards. He felt detached from himself, watching a strange replay of the horrors he’d seen and suffered. It was like his quivering heart was still on the battlefield.

Claude jumped when a log cracked loudly in the fireplace.

A warm hand was pressed over his heart. “Claude, you’re shaking.”

 _Byleth_. She was focused and open with him in this moment. Loving. He couldn’t stand it. 

“D-did I… uh…”

His tone had grabbed her full attention and he wasn’t sure how to still the trembling timbre or erase the concern from her face. She was wiping tears from his eyes--was he crying? He didn’t want her to see him like this. Every nerve in his body was firing, and his heart was screaming at him to _run._ Even Claude was surprised when he finally admitted,

“Did I ever tell you Dimitri died in my arms?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: depression/PTSD, rough sex, knife play.
> 
> \--
> 
> Writing this chapter was was emotional taxing for me and I had to divide it into three separate chapters due to length. This one clocks in at 8,168 words.
> 
> Thanks for your patience with this update. 🙏 I hope you enjoyed it, I can't wait to see your comments. 😍
> 
> P.S. - Apparently if you hit "kudos" after you've already left one, it still counts? Let's try it! ;3
> 
> P.P.S. - GIVEAWAY! I'm doing a FE3H themed giveaway mid-February for a 1k flashfic *or* sketch on Twitter once I reach 100 followers, and at time of posting this I'm at 98. So go follow me. ;> @btwnskyandsea (18+ only please!)


	8. Push Right Through Me

_Dimitri is dead._

Claude’s fingers wrinkled the edges of the unassuming note as he tried to process what he’d just learned.

He scanned it twice more, willing the letters to lift themselves off the page and rearrange into something less horrible.

Dimitri, the Crown Prince of Faerghus, had been executed in an Imperial coup. 

While the news stamped hope of an eventual alliance with the Kingdom into the dust, the note crushed his heart into pulp. 

They had fought side-by-side at Garreg Mach only a few moons ago. 

All he could think of was Dimitri’s earnest laugh, his sweet smile, the fall of Dimitri’s golden hair in those warm blue eyes. His poise and consideration for everyone around him... even an outsider like himself.

Claude had done his best to remain factual in announcing the letter’s contents to the horrified room but _something_ must have slipped--Hilda stepped up to help run the rest of the meeting without a word.

* * *

_Dimitri is alive?_

Suddenly Claude’s network of informants were abuzz with the same rumor, despite the years that had passed. He could roughly track Dimitri’s movements based on the intelligence he received. Each letter restored a little strength to his resolve.

If they could join forces, he knew they had a chance of winning. Selfishy, Claude just wanted to see Dimitri with his own eyes. 

It was not long after, as more details emerged that the letters became troubling--the former Crown Prince had morphed into a veritable monster, sweeping the countryside in blood, no allies to be found.

* * *

_Dimitri is a walking corpse hellbent on destruction._

Claude refused to believe it unless he saw it with his own eyes.

It’s dusk, the evening before the ill-fated rematch of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Ill-fated because absolutely nothing good was going to come out of this battle; he’d run the simulation in his head over a dozen times. The numbers were stacked against them.

Edelgard had always been unreceptive, single-minded in her goals. While her resolve had been admirable, a friendship had been nearly impossible to forge. Claude had been able to call Dimitri a friend shortly after starting at the Academy, and he was banking on that past relationship to forge _something_. Even if that something was just to buy time. 

The Blue Lions encampment was a sorry sight, with so few tents it looked more like a camping trip than an army bolstered for the final stand against a bitter enemy.

If they marched in like this, the Kingdom’s chances of victory were close to zero. Perhaps Claude’s chances for bargaining an alliance were better than he thought. 

As his wyvern lands, Ingrid waits below, shielding her eyes from the dust its mighty wings threw into the air. Her greeting is stiff and formal. Always practical, she lead him with guarded enthusiasm to Dimitri’s tent.

Sylvain apologizes as he pats him down for weapons, Claude makes a wry comment and they both find a way to laugh despite the situation. 

Claude had heeded her warning that Dimitri was… not how he used to be, but seeing it was another matter entirely.

They enter the tent; a giant pile of furs melted over the figure in front of the small fire at the center of the tent. Was that… Dimitri? Claude cleared his throat.

“The leader of the Alliance is here, your Highness,” Ingrid said.

“ _Claude_ ,” came Dimitri’s voice.

Hearing his name so ardently from those lips made Claude’s heart flutter. 

“Ingrid, leave us.”

She gives Claude a look as she passes out of the tent; she’s always been somewhat prickly but Claude doesn’t blame her for her caution. It’s the 11th hour. Things could go belly up at any moment.

“It’s been a... long time.” Dimitri stared into the fire. His tone held a frigidity Claude had not expected. Yikes.

Claude nodded. “It’s good to see you again, Mitya.”

The other leader turned to him… his princely visage had been replaced by that of a wicked one-eyed beast.

“...Don’t call me that.”

Double yikes.

“Oookay. Dimitri. You look... “

Like shit. Worn. Unhinged. 

The reconnaissance he’d received about Dimitri’s drastic change had been omissions made in kindness. but to _see_ it broke Claude’s heart. 

“Enough with the pleasantries,” Dimitri said gruffly and stood. Claude had to conceal his surprise. The exiled prince of Faerghus had morphed into a giant. Claude could have sworn they were only a few inches apart in height just five years ago. With his hulking wide shoulders and the beastly cloak of furs puffing up his silhouette, he looked the part of a monster now.

“You know why I’m here.”

Dimitri had no idea of the power he held over Claude. Despite everything, Claude yearned to reach Dimitri. 

“Yes. I received your letter. Perhaps I can be convinced.”

So Claude took great care in laying out his plan, making particular note of the their unlikely odds of victory if they didn’t work together. Dimitri was mostly unresponsive and difficult for Claude to read, grunting occasionally for Claude to continue when he paused.

“I’m lucky I’m able to call on the strength of the Alliance but… this little encampment is all you’ve got left, isn’t it?”

Dimitri did not deny their reality.

“If your goal is not to serve me Edelgard’s head tomorrow, I want nothing to do with your _scheme_.”

Claude sighed.

“Ok, but if we--”

“I won’t hear it.”

“ _Dimitri_.”

Dimitri steps in close enough for Claude to feel his breath. It's sour and Claude wants to recoil but he must stand his ground. He gave it one last shot, hoping his arrow would reach Dimitri’s heart.

“We have to look to the future of Fódlan together--”

The boar prince’s gloved hand whipped out to crush the lower half of Claude’s face. He’d seen Dimitri pulverize training dummies like they were made of chalk. If Dimitri was angry enough to activate his crest, it was over.

“Leave,” the future king says as he tossed Claude to the ground like a ragdoll.

The Alliance leader emerged from the tent, shaken. That was not the same person he had fallen in love with, once. The kind, conscientious, prince had turned into a bloodstained king, ravenous with revenge. 

The rest of the Blue Lions allies were waiting some paces away from the tent. 

“Claude?” Ingrid calls after him. He shakes his head and passes them without a word, his face wearing a flush. His wyvern is obediently waiting for him, and it croons softly at his approach.

* * *

It’s dawn, the sun is barely up and things have already gone to shit. Ignatz and Marianne were gone--he had tried to save her but they were both smashed by an imperial battalion. Raph--their strongest warrior--was a smear on the ground. Hilda had been trying to keep Claude’s spirits up but losing her girlfriend had sent her into a red rage that rivaled Dimitri’s madness.

They’re going to lose. 

Claude took to the skies to suss out the situation further afield. Edelgard had wasted no time in razing the forest, even at the cost of her own allies’ lives. Bernadetta’s screams would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The smoke clung thick and low to the ground. A small blessing for flying units, a kiss of death for everyone else.

Ingrid’s face turns upwards as she catches sight of Claude overhead.

“Cover his Highness!” she screamed up at him.

He caught her eye only to witness her impaled on a pike, crumpling like a doll. Tears trickle from his eyes and he swipes them away with the back of a gloved hand. 

Claude finds Dimitri some distance from the action. He isn’t moving.

Claude’s body moved of its own accord; he had the wyvern dive but before it was at a safe distance he launched himself to the ground. He bounced and rolled some feet away from Dimitri’s imposing, hunched over body, wincing at the pain of impact before he scrambled to Dimitri’s side.

He has lost blood--the pallor of his skin and the soil is stained black. It's too much. Too much blood. 

Maybe he can staunch the bleeding. Claude puts his hands on Dimitri’s shoulders to take stock of the situation. 

...No. There’s a dagger lodged upwards between the plates of his chest armor; the pommel bears the craftsmanship of Faerghus. Numerous other wounds had been draining him.

Dimitri coughed, spraying the air with red.

Dimitri is going to die here.

Tears sting Claude’s eyes.

“Your Kingliness,” the Alliance leader tried to smile. He’s gotta keep up the facade. He’d done it a thousand times before, this should be easy. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Dimitri’s solitary blue eye flutters, barely responsive to Claude’s voice.

He’s going to die here, he will die soon, and he will have died by his own hand.

He will die in Claude’s arms, because Dimitri deserves a compassionate death. 

Claude tugs off his gloves with haste. Perhaps it’s a foolish tactical move to leave himself so vulnerable, but he needs to do this.

Claude is strong but Dimitri is already deadweight. Coupled with the burden of his armor, It is difficult to get him to lay down. 

“Mitya,” Claude said quietly, brushing his fingertips through Dimitri’s hair. 

“...Byleth? Your hands are so warm.”

...Fuck.

Why does everything come back to _her_? All the same, right now Claude would pretend to be anyone to comfort Dimitri. 

“Shh, I’m here, I’m here.”

“I’m so cold, Byleth,” Dimitri croaked, frantically staring into the void. “Please, my beloved…”

Dimitri reaches for Claude’s face, utterly in love with a person who was not present.

This is wrong. But as things are, Claude... well, he can’t tell Dimitri no. He can’t leave things like this. So they shared a kiss of blood and longing. Claude has never felt so loved, but the love was not for him. 

Dimitri shudders a sigh as their lips part.

Breathless with feelings of love stirred up anew, it takes a moment for Claude to grasp that Dimitri is no longer.

 _No._ His pulse quickened and his chest heaved in quick succession before a sorrowful wail filled the clearing despite himself. 

“The plan was for us to _live_ ,” he cried, pressing his forehead to Dimitri’s. Hot tears fell on Dimitri’s unmoving face, and his eye stared blankly back at Claude, taunting him even in death. “Why couldn’t I reach you?”

A hellish, distorted scream echoed through the forest, a sound so loud and so awful it unnerved Claude.

The time for grief was over. 

_One_ of them had to live today. With his thumb he caressed Dimitri’s face, smoothing his eyelid shut. It was the last kindness he could give to this person whom he’d loved so much, unrequited though it’d been. He pushed to his feet and attempted to reorient himself. He needed to find his allies--whoever was left--and they needed to escape. This was futile.

Pushing to his feet, Claude took a step forward and screamed at the searing pain that pierced the left side of his body. He was plucked from the ground; the demonic beast who’d bitten him shook him like a fox with its prey. His wyvern howled and began to attack the thing, but that only sent Claude cresting over the trees to crash in a thicket yards away.

The dying scream of his wyvern struck something else deep in his heart. He was losing everything. Allies, loved ones, his blessed white wyvern, his chance at building a future in Fódlan. _Everything._

Breathless, Claude began to drag himself through the underbrush, away from the roar of warfare. Nothing felt _broken_ but all the same, his legs didn’t want to work, and the piercing bite that thing had inflicted was oozing strangely. _Great_. The only thing he could do was find a place to rest, heal, and return to Almyra.

Even if he would be perceived as no better than a stray by those in the high court, at least he'd be _alive_.

* * *

Bitterness unfurled in his gut like spores springing back to life after a muggy winter rain.

“Even with his dying breath... he thought of _you_ ,” Claude said sorrowfully once he’d finished sharing the painful memories. It was said with a sad resignation, apologetic. "I _hated_ you for it."

Despite his unpleasant revelation, she pressed in tightly.

“I _hated_ you, for so many years--”

“Shh. It’s okay,” Byleth whispered. She shook with sobs of her own as she pressed onto his lap, seeking him for affection as much as she was providing support. Like a prideful child Claude attempted to withdraw and turned his face away, but she did not relent, keeping their bodies close.

Why was it ‘okay’? The cruelty he’d lashed out at her with had been due to his ugly jealousy. Why was she always so forgiving with him? He didn’t have time to ask--Byleth’s warm hands smoothed over his damp cheeks. In Almyran, she began to murmur a nursery rhyme, a song he knew from childhood that was meant to provide comfort.His mother used to sing him the very same song.

Claude’s face crumpled with emotion as he gazed into her eyes, and he stifled a hiccup of surprise. “Where did you learn that?”

“A tutor made me memorize it,” she continued to speak in Almyran. She gazed into his eyes for a long time, cradling his face in her hands until he relaxed under her.

It had been a long few weeks of being ignored; he’d longed for this kind of gentle affection. He finally wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. 

“I know it’s hard to think about our past lives, our past loves. You see me struggle with it every day. But my love for you, ah…” she averted her eyes, blushing hotly.

Claude stared at her. 

“Your... _what_?”

She laughed nervously under his incredulous stare.

“I love you, Claude.”

Hearing her confession in his mother tongue gave him a potent rush. The love he felt for Byleth coupled with the grief he felt for Dimitri turned him into an overly emotive fool. 

“I... I love you, Byleth. More than I've ever loved _anyone_. And I want to build a future with you."

Claude yearned to tell her about his parents. He wanted to dance with her in the palace gardens under the moonlight, intoxicated by the scent of gardenia and the taste of each other. Even with these confessions laid bare he still couldn’t--

Byleth pressed in for a kiss, unhurried, savoring him until she broke away to sigh. The thrill of admitting their feelings made it extra sweet. There was no more time to ponder.

Her smile was extra radiant as she caught her breath, then whispered, “Good thing we're already married, huh?”


	9. It's So Clear Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrill of hearts laid bare had unlocked the desire to be close to one another. 
> 
> Post Silver Snow/Church route. Byclaude / Claudeleth

For all the times she’d wept in front of Claude, Byleth hadn’t been privy to his tears even _once_ before this moment. Claude’s beautiful smile flashed through his pain, but she persisted, fighting the shock that threatened her. Byleth’s comforting words and her own admission soothed him for only a moment before he was drowning again, and she was pulled with him.

She knew every word her husband said to be true. Claude concealed and carefully played his hand, but he was not a liar. The story was written on his body, each word a scar. And in the moons they’d spent together as lovers, well... she’d memorized every single one.

Claude’s confession of Gronder and the dark ocean of sorrow were waves that crushed her against a treacherous shore, cracking her memories open.

The first memory that flashed through her mind was Dimitri’s sweet smile when they danced at the Ball, a glimmer of how intent he’d been--he spared a glance for no one else.

She remembered the anticipation that constricted her chest when they snuck away to kiss in the Goddess Tower. 

She remembered his kindness. Dimitri had been the only one among the three lords she’d tutored at the Academy to offer genuine condolences when her father had died. 

Finally, the sight of that unfamiliar, war-worn Dimitri, who had appeared in her dreams to express his regret, his voice so full of longing-- _that_ memory pulled her under.

They clung to each other desperately as they mourned. The sobs he made were ugly, heavy things and his tears fell wetly against her neck, staining her shoulder. Hers were no less grotesque. But amid her own tears, she whispered to him in Almyran, doing her best to provide comfort to her beloved husband. Byleth was crying for Claude, for Dimitri, for Linhardt… for everyone, _everyone_ they had both lost during the war, for all the suffering that had come to pass in the name of “peace.” 

Eventually grief drained from the pair and melted into quiet reflection in front of the fireplace, a companionable sadness. They remained like that for a long time, until he sought out a different kind of comfort. 

* * *

The bed creaked loudly under their sudden weight.

_I love you, I love you, I love you…_

She had been the first to say it, but such a declaration in Almyran rolled awkwardly on her tongue. As he admitted his feelings in return, her confidence grew.

The thrill of hearts laid bare had unlocked the desire to be close to one another. They hadn’t bothered to fully undress, instead tumbling over the foot of the plush bed together. His body was heavy over hers, pressing her into the mattress with more force than she expected from her usually mindful husband. Their lips parted only to take heavy breaths before returning to each other. She braced against the thigh he’d pressed between her legs, her garments growing damp from the friction.

When she’d had enough, her impatient fingers found the drawstring of his pants. A deft flick of her wrist and they easily came undone, but a gentle hand grasped her before she could reach inside to grasp _him_.

“ _No_. Let me treasure you,” Claude demanded as he crouched low over her body, half-lidded eyes peeking over the shelf of her bosom. They had never held a conversation in Almyran that had not been laced with anger until this moment. The timbre of his voice was very different in his native tongue, deep and refined. 

With the demeanor he revealed, her blush intensified. Claude was plainly desperate for control. She was used to delegating their bedroom activities, but his newfound confidence stirred something inside her. Byleth curled her fingers against his cheek and nodded in solemn permission, enchanted.

The brief smile he returned was radiant, shining with a true self-assurance he hadn’t displayed since their Academy days. The boy who’d flirted with her so many years ago had finally returned to her as her lover. 

She shrieked in surprise as he pulled apart her blouse, buttons popping this way and that, but found herself laughing in delight when he buried his face in her chest. The thin, double layers of silk and lacy straps were just a suggestion of a brassiere, and offered no protection from his mouth or the carefully groomed whiskers along his jaw. She whined, rocking against his leg to find some relief.

“I love this body of yours,” Claude commended, cupping the globes of her breasts in his large hands. The soft friction of silk over her nipples was delightful as he squeezed and kneaded. It didn’t matter how she whined or writhed, he ignored her willful demonstrations to focus on what he desired.

“I will not let you go.” He continued, peeling one side of the flimsy bra down. Calloused fingertips traced lazy circles that ended in a spiral around her nipple, and he thumbed the soft bud until it hardened under his attention. Byleth squirmed at the intensifying tingle between her legs. 

“Nor I, you,” she managed to reply, her pulse pounding in her ears. 

The look of adoration on his face made her stomach flutter. But there was a look of cunning behind those green eyes, and the slightest smirk to match. Claude was plainly delighted with himself. 

She flushed hotly, snaking her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “What are you, ah--”

The tip of his nose circled her other nipple through the sheer fabric. When it, too, succumbed to his attention, he pulled the bra down just enough to drag the tip of his tongue across the soft, voluminous curve. Byleth cradled his head in encouragement. 

When Claude began to suck, Byleth felt like he was trying to consume her, and she cried in delight. The lewd, wet noises drove her delightfully mad. 

He was deliberately taking his time in order to wind her up, wasn’t he? Byleth was _patently_ unused to being the prey, and her breath quickened despite herself. Claude immediately recognized the weakness; his confidence bloomed as he abandoned his work to close in for a kiss. It only intensified her confused emotions.

Did she _like_ this? 

“I will claim my wife tonight,” he said possessively, exhaling against the junction of her jaw. “Properly, as befits a Queen.”

 _Oh_ . She _certainly_ liked this. 

One hand swept down her side and undid the ties of her pants before tugging them down _just_ enough to work his way to her panties. He pressed the silk fabric into her cleft and hummed in pleasant surprise. “You’re _eager_ , my darling.” 

What had gotten into him? ...Was he trying to make up for their lackluster wedding night? She was _thoroughly_ enjoying this and it confused her. But instead of admitting it, Byleth scoffed, trying to excuse the sensation that pooled between her thighs at his display of bravado. A hard swallow stifled the squeal that threatened to escape, but she couldn’t help squirming against his touch.

“Tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable. I will stop. Understand?”

 _Oh_. She could not stop the hot flush that washed over her pale skin, or the soft noises of pleasure she made as he worked her up. 

“You don’t have to be that dramatic,” she answered hastily. Was she rebuffing him or trying to convince herself? 

As soon as she’d said it, she was determined to remain in the moment with him, and pushed away her doubts.

“Sorry. Yes. I understand. I’m yours,” she asserted, “forever and always, Claude.”

“ _Claude_ , hm.”

He said his name with a slight wrinkle of his nose, as if it were distasteful. _Okay_. Did he want to roleplay? Unsure, she addressed him by title instead.

“My beloved consort--”

In one swift movement he pulled her hair, cradling her skull in the crease of his arm. Byleth yelped in surprise, a mix of pleasure and light pain. The sound eked into a moan as his other hand pinched and pressed at the button between her legs.

“Your _King_ ,” he chastised with an even harder pinch, watching her face as she cried. His expression was deadly serious, hyperfocused on Byleth. It thrilled her. Such rough attention made her feel incredible. 

His demeanor was so different--ah! Was this how he fancied himself as a lover? So be it. This teetering power game was perhaps the truest expression of the trust they’d built.

“Yes, my King,” she answered.

“Do you want your King to fill you?” 

Claude’s tone caused the frisson coursing through her lower half to burn unacceptably _hot_. She needed relief. By the tent in his pants, so did he. Used to doing as she pleased with him, it infuriated her that he wouldn’t accept her touch. 

But Byleth bit her lower lip and nodded, compliant only because she was so needy.

The self-satisfied smile he flashed vexed her, but the reward for her docile reply proved worth it. Two fingers slipped inside, curling to stroke her softly. 

“You can take more than this,” he purred, greedy.

Byleth inhaled sharply at his statement. She could do naught but nod again. Her eyes slid shut for a second as she enjoyed the tempo he’d set, then flickered wide open when a third digit joined in. 

She was _gloriously_ full. Claude knew exactly where to stroke, yet he refrained from angling his calloused digits to give her the release she wanted. Unwilling to wait much longer, she arched her hips and pleaded, “ _More_.”

“Why must my Queen be so _insolent_ ?” he sneered, but did not withhold affection. He resumed thumbing her clit, strumming more insistently than before. “I will please her Majesty as I see fit, and she _will_ accept my advances.”

“Yes, King C-claude,” she said shakily, rocking against his hand. 

“Ah-ah. King _Khalid_ ,” he corrected a second time, tightening the fist in her hair. She was at the mercy of his kindness. 

“ _Khalid_ ,” she repeated in a breath. The last syllable of his name eked into a moan as he continued to stroke the slick core of her.

Byleth did not miss the warmth that shone in his emerald eyes. He rewarded her with the most beautiful smile, unguarded and warm, and she felt like she was seeing him for the first time. 

“That’s much better, my Queen,” he whispered sweetly, smirking as she fell apart before his eyes. He untangled from her hair to encircle her waist. There was no escape from his assault; this time he gave her the affection she’d pleaded for only a few moments before. She clenched tight around his fingers. Her cries echoed from the rafters.

 _“_ Khalid _... ah, Khalid!_ I love you, ah!”

Byleth was dizzy with satisfaction in the wake of his willful overstimulation of her body. She grasped the sheets to find an anchor, writhing and shaking her head. Her King did not relent in giving her pleasure even as she rode her wave.

“Ah, _please_ \--” Byleth gasped. “I need a minute--” 

However, she did not tell him to stop. 

So her King did not provide even a brief moment of respite. He silenced her with a kiss, and she moaned against his tongue as it demanded her attention. It wasn’t long before he coaxed a second orgasm from her body, puddling her into a languid mess. She closed her eyes and focused on catching her breath.

Without another word, he pressed a kiss to her sweaty brow. A sudden chill swept over her when they untangled and the bed heaved with his departure. 

“...Khalid?” she rasped.

Through half-lidded eyes she saw him at the foot of the bed, and did nothing but watch as he began to remove her pants. Try as she might, she was too exhausted to be of any help. ~~Claude~~ Khalid smiled smugly; he peeled the close fitting pants further down her hips and over her muscular thighs and calves, tugging at the hem to free her. The garment was discarded without a second thought, but he _was_ thoughtful as he pulled her to the edge of the bed. 

With one of his broad hands he pushed under one knee to expose her. “Your panties are absolutely soiled,” he lamented. Her hips jerked when he grazed a finger over the damp silk that clung to her core. “Soaked _right_ through.”

She whined at the light shaming. Everything was throbbing and she was too hypnotized with lust to lift her head. “Don’t, ah--”

Khalid had curled a finger under the hem of her undergarment, but paused at her complaint.

“... _Don’t_ ? Oh, my sweet Queen,” he said in a honeyed tone, but resumed tugging the garment aside. “I will remind you only _once_ more. Do not forget who you belong to. I intend to bring you pleasure but I _will_ use you how I see fit.” 

Byleth inhaled sharply at the commentary, surprised that his words cast such a potent spell. Her instinct was to balk at being even _slightly_ debased, but he was so utterly charming she could do naught but clench her eyes shut and squeak an affirmative.

She was safe with him. She would surrender.

Byleth had no more time to think before he dipped to begin his onslaught. Tongue and lips savored her, but quickly turned greedy with the sheer intensity of how he suckled at the bud between her legs. 

Her husband had become quite skilled--but he always waited for her to guide him. Not now. Now _he_ was the one leading their duet, plucking and plying her like a bard would strum a lute. 

Further demands went ignored--with his fingers he stretched and filled her as _he_ desired. That was just fine. Her spine arched, hips jolted; she couldn’t control how she writhed and bucked as the pleasure wound tighter and tighter between her thighs. Her hands threaded through his hair once more.

“Khalid--”

Whine.

“Let me, ah--”

Beg.

“Please, _please--_ ”

 _Plead_. 

Khalid teetered her between sweet release and a torturous inferno, and with each impassioned protest he drew back to prevent her from climaxing even a _moment_ sooner than _he_ desired. 

When he finally allowed her to tip over the edge of delight, Byleth was loud enough to hear her own cries echo from the rafters of the stone arches above. She was not gentle, pulling his hair as she rode against his mouth, chasing the coil and release of subsequent waves. 

Khalid obediently, relentlessly, lapped her clean, despite weak protests when she’d finally had enough. After a soft kiss to her core he retreated, replacing her panties as he’d found them. 

Every limb felt like it was made of gelatin, but her legs trembled the most. Khalid joined her, accomodating for her comfort by nestling her among extra pillows. She felt boneless, breathlessly watching his every move as he drew her into his arms.

“You did well, my darling,” he praised in a breath. His careful caresses and the gentle stir of his heart against her chest were appreciated after such an exhausting roulette. To think, she hadn’t done a thing. However, they were far from through, and she did not know when he would demand more of her. Rising anticipation made her pulse flutter. 

“I love you,” he offered freely.

“I love you too, Khalid.”

He smiled shyly at her quick reply and she reached for his lips. Though they had been intimate for many moons now, the powerful sentiment made her feel more bonded to him than even the vows of marriage.

Ever attentive, it was not until she initiated affection that he began another onslaught. 

The taste of herself on his lips was enough to make her pulse race again. He was gentle at first, guiding her softly, but soon he had abandoned her lips to exhale in the shell of her ear, pressing kisses at the junction of her jaw. Electricity tingled down her spine and pooled between her legs again, but this time she had no energy to demand anything. Byleth merely wanted to feel the comfort of his body pressed over hers as they rocked together, chasing pleasure.

“I need you,” she whimpered.

She felt his smile blossom against her neck. “Is that right?”

He was so cocksure she was _almost_ mad about it.

Still fully clothed, her King settled over her hips like her torso was his throne, the mattress carrying most of his weight. His jacket was shrugged off and tossed aside. 

“It is your duty to please your King,” Khalid said matter-of-factly, undoing the cuffs of his shirt. He rolled each of his sleeves in a laboriously slow manner, watching her reactions carefully. “I don’t want to cause you discomfort but I… I will use you,” he continued, the persona he’d adopted softening just a bit.

“Yes, my King,” Byleth answered, drinking in the view. 

He was unhurried as he began to unfasten his shirt at the collar. Byleth shakily helped with the buttons closer to the hem. Her hands splayed over the flat planes of his stomach and through the fine, dark hair that trailed upward from his waistband. Her fingers curled into the gentle dips of his muscles, then traced the line where the band met his skin. This person was warm and strong and _hers._

Those trembling hands of hers were led to the bulge in his pants. Finally, _finally_ , she would be allowed to touch. Khalid saved her the trouble of the reveal, pulling down his pants and undergarments to expose himself.

He was more purple than usual after being neglected, and she could not wait to use him, _be_ used by him. The weight was comforting and heavy in her palm.

Gently she stroked and he was generous in dispensing praise. Byleth found herself unable to break from his gaze, and the look of utter satisfaction he wore was electrifying.

She loved him and wanted to be his, in any way he desired. 

“You want to be filled?” 

Byleth was desperate when she answered, “Yes.” 

His haughty smile was bright. 

Abandoning his post at her hip, Khalid edged forward so his hips were squarely over her chest. His tip smeared along her chin in the process, and up one side of her cheek. The clean, warm smell of his skin made her hungry to provide a more intimate affection.

“ _Oh--”_

He shifted again and this time the head of his cock bumped against her upper lip. She cradled the length of him to her cheek, and turned to nuzzle the soft, sensitive skin.

Her King watched her as she luxuriated like a kitten, and stroked her hair fondly. But finally he grew impatient and his gentle touch turned rough. 

“Suck.”

The decree was crude. That didn’t bother her. He hissed a sigh of relief when her tongue swirled and slicked over his broad glans. She relished the taste of him; he’d been waiting for so long for her touch that he dribbled in her mouth. She’d been waiting just as long for this moment. 

“Good girl,” he said. Byleth hummed at his praise. 

Khalid was eager but considerate, whispering encouragement. She could feel his body shake as he struggled to keep himself from thrusting too deeply, but he was too large for this particular angle, and so unpracticed that each gentle thrust knocked awkwardly into the roof of her mouth or against her molars. This couldn’t possibly be comfortable for him. 

It wasn’t long before she’d had enough. She released his cock with a pop and in the transition it was thrust against her cheek. Byleth sighed before offering up a compromise.

“If you want to fuck my mouth, let’s try another way,” she said, tone far dryer than intended.

Her lover became a little sheepish. With ruddy cheeks he retreated to the mattress beside her, but she deftly tumbled between his legs. She had found a second wind. He had flagged a little by her inadvertent rejection, but she knew she’d soon have him begging. 

“Let _me_ treasure _you_ , my King.” Byleth said, hooking an arm around his slender waist to draw him onto her lap. “You mustn’t do all the work,” she admonished, gliding her hand down to the base of him, then drew her thumb upwards to the underside of the head. She stroked with enough pressure to make him draw a sharp breath. 

The praise she laid was thick; she was doing her best to be obedient to boundaries set by the roleplay he’d started but also to soothe any bruises she might’ve made to his ego. Though she knew it was a thorough sugar-coating, she knew she had him at the quirk that appeared on his lips, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes. 

Byleth was given nothing more, so she did as she pleased. She drew his foreskin over the head of his cock and rolled it in short bursts, causing soft moans to vibrate in his throat as he tipped his head back onto their nest of pillows, basking in her attention. He had always been more fluid than her past lovers, and she used it as lube, providing more pleasure… and more liquid in her palm. If she was not careful, he’d spill his seed all over her breasts. He had far less control over that aspect of himself than he would admit, so she worked him back from the cusp. 

True to form, it wasn’t long before he hissed and pumped himself into her hand, _demanding_ she give him release. A devilish smile curled her lips as she pulled away. His unattended cock quivered and pulsed prettily and she wanted it inside of her. 

“Where do you want to cum, my King?”

“In your cunt. But I’ll take your mouth properly, first,” he answered crassly and without pause.

Ah, that confidence had returned. She made sure to kiss him slowly, teasing in the same way he’d teased before. When he grew too demanding she disentangled herself while he got into position. 

On hands and knees she knelt between his thighs. She enjoyed the view of his finely muscled body until she pressed close enough to see nothing except his impatient erection. With one hand he gathered her hair in a swirl, cradling the back of her head, while Byleth nosed the underside of his cock. 

“I want to take all of you,” she glanced up at him, her lips fluttering at the junction of his hip. He inhaled sharply. She could sense his desire for power play, yes, but his excitement about being intimate with her like _this_ for the first time was potent for them both.

His fingertips curled into her scalp as she savored the taste of his skin, exploring everything he presented. She paused to marvel the weight of him against her tongue and palate, then suckled hungrily. He dropped a satisfied sigh. It wasn’t long before Byleth dipped one hand in her panties to alleviate her own desire.

“Your mouth is so small, my Queen,” he tutted, though he was pressing in all the same. The grip on her hair tightened before he taunted, “Are you so sure you can take _all_ of me?”

 _What kind of question is that?_ she could not scoff, so she hummed in annoyance. With steady, concentrated breaths through her nose, she pressed forward until he filled her mouth and throat. Her nose met the tickle of hair on his lower abs. They stayed like that for a moment, and she cherished the noises he made, the tender caress of a thumb on her cheek.

With a gentle bob, Byleth encouraged him to thrust and he didn’t waste her offering, pushing in until she was at the point of overwhelm, pulling back until he was almost free. He was not as rough of a lover as he fancied, or perhaps she was too eager. It was sweet, really, the enjoyment they shared from this game.

Her jaw had begun to ache from the concentrated effort when he finally pulled out. She sat back on her haunches for a moment of respite, but before she could lay back he cradled her into a kiss. His desire pressed hard between them, but he did not relent, drinking deeply. 

Once he’d had his fill, he pulled back to admire her. His deadly serious expression stirred something deep inside of Byleth. To be the focus of _his_ attention--this man, her husband, her lover--she felt utterly devoted.

Khalid licked the shell of her ear, and shivered at his hot breath when he whispered, “I will put an heir in your womb.” 

Byleth let the weight of her head tip into his hands, watching for any clue of his true intent. Was this still his game, or was this real? She found a familiar sincerity etched on his face. Lust. Yearning. 

She’d never gotten pregnant, despite how many times she and Linhardt had been together. She wasn’t sure it was possible at all, but for her husband... she would try.

Raising one hand to cover his, she felt a smile twitch across her face.

“Then fill me. Fuck me as many times as it takes,” she challenged defiantly, letting each word sink in.

As lust darkened his eyes further, they tumbled back onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and kisses. Byleth’s panties were discarded unceremoniously before their bodies came together. A hiss of relief escaped her when he pressed himself inside. “Gods, you’re thick,” she praised on a sigh, arching her spine so her hips rocked easily against his.

A gentle laugh through a smile was his only response. He was possessive, his arms like a vise around her ribcage as they moved together. His breath was hot on her neck, in her ear, and each noise he made excited her.

Byleth had little energy left for a more adventurous position and was content to let him do as he pleased. She’d ached for this closeness. 

When Khalid tipped back onto his haunches, she had no protest. He took the opportunity to coax her legs over his shoulders.

Testing the limits of her flexibility, she raised her legs higher still by drawing her thighs to her chest, then pulled them higher still. She must have been a sight, her breasts pressed tightly together, legs pulled high and crossed at the ankle above her head. His next thrust had them both gasping in pleasure at how deeply they connected.

“How’s that?” She managed a smirk. He could not answer, enchanted. Byleth could only hold his gaze, rendered speechless by the increasingly frantic noises that came from her throat with each of his thrusts. A delightful pressure built inside her as each gyration hit just _so_ , and her body tightened and released in soft undulations of pleasure. 

“Gods, By,” Khalid uttered, the look in his eyes desperate. He was close.

“Don’t stop,” she demanded between gasping breaths.

Finally her body clenched around him, and Byleth’s cries rose to the ceiling as he drew a final orgasm from her. Relentlessly he thrusted through her climax, crying loudly before he joined her. She could feel the ticking of his cock inside her as he spilled himself. She moaned in delight at the thought, and her body gripped him again, unwilling to let go. 

Their half-clothed bodies were drenched in sweat. Carefully they parted, taking opposite sides of the wide bed. He rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling, utterly spent and looking as satiated as she’d ever seen him. Byleth tilted her gaze in admiration. He may have taken the upper hand, but he’d done a lot of work to please her. 

Yet… 

The marks on his neck were plainly visible now that her kisses had worn away the makeup he diligently applied day after day. It was, of course, to conceal the evidence of their altercation, something he’d done every morning since she’d forced herself on him. They were well on their way to healing, but yellow still stained his skin. 

“...I should not use you like that.” She commented as she tenderly reached for his throat. At the last moment she thought better of it, and let her fingertips smooth over his bare, sweat-slicked chest instead. They played in the hair between his pecs, finally she gripped the muscle over his heart, still beating strongly from their exertion. 

Her husband managed a shrug, too tired to look anywhere but the ceiling. “Mmm? Ah… I liked it. I’d probably like anything you do with me.”

He said it so matter-of-factly. Byleth studied his face for a moment. He seemed genuine but she knew what she’d done in such a fit of rage had been wrong.

“...Not like that, my love.”

“Then let’s try it under different circumstances,” he encouraged, finally reaching for her to join him. His body was completely slicked in sweat from his effort to please her, his undershirt translucent and plastered to his skin. She lazily tugged at one sleeve, still rolled up to his elbows, and unwound the fabric to his wrist.

“Okay.” She wanted to know everything about him. Every quirk, preference, how he came to be in Fodlan, why he’d gone into hiding in Almyra… they had rushed into work and the wedding, and he’d been so unreceptive toward her. Finally, it seemed he had warmed to her enough to talk about emotions, but his past? Still an utter mystery.

“...Khalid is a popular name in Almyra, isn’t it?” 

“It is,” he answered without missing a beat, no mark of surprise on his finely sculpted face. “Who wouldn’t want to name their son after the handsome and dashing Crown Prince?”

“Is it your birth name?”

Byleth peered into his eyes and found warmth there. _Ah_! 

~~Claude~~ Khalid nodded gently, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. She turned to kiss his palm. He had shared something special with her, and he trusted her enough not to try and hide it. 

“A common name for an uncommon beauty,” she praised. Had freckles started to bloom across the bridge of his nose from all the sun they’d been getting while touring? She kissed him there.

“ _Byleth_ ,” he whined softly, clearly flustered. Cute. 

She gathered enough energy to straddle his hips. She could feel his cum sliding between her thighs, but it didn’t matter. They’d clean up shortly.

“Which would you prefer?” she asked gently. “Claude or Khalid?”

He paused a moment too long for her liking, so she was quick to pin his hands above his head. Their laughter filled the room. “Your answer?”

“Phonetically, it's the same name,” he tried to explain away, waving one of his hands even though she had caught them both. He was being coy about it, but she wasn’t unaware at how closely he was watching her reactions. “Each name has different memories attached.”

“That’s a compelling non-answer,” she prodded in an attempt to get him to divulge _something_. 

“Okay, _okay_. Claude has better memories for me, but...”

The horrors of war had been _better_ than his childhood? That was terrible. She had to swallow her frown. She was sure he didn’t want her pity, but she did ease up on her grip. 

“The Ashen Demon is _not_ one to be reckoned with.” He teased as he rubbed at his wrists. “Hmm. Did you ever like that name?”

Byleth wrinkled her nose in disgust. Claude laughed. Perhaps his own dislike was similar enough.

She had never learned much about his past. The snippets he’d revealed--throwaway commentary, really--had not been kind.

“Would it bother you if I called you Khalid when we’re alone?”

Her husband shook his head. That joyus warmth had returned to his eyes. “I’d like that very much.”

They kissed and she felt him relax between her thighs. The reveal had reenergized her and comforted him; suddenly she felt needy again. Byleth smiled against his cheek, and tested a gentle movement against his hips. The result of their lovemaking smeared across the lower half of his belly. 

She pressed in with a smirk, demanding his full attention. “Your Queen will demand tribute on a regular schedule.”

“Please don’t take this poorly… I don’t know if I want children,” Claude winced in apology as if he’d been struck, averting his eyes. “It seems selfish, bringing someone into _this_ world.”

“It was dirty talk, got it,” Byleth conceded with a sad smile, content enough to save this page of conversation for another day. He’d demanded one thing whilst in the throes of passion, and was now dismissing it. She found comfort in the thought of carrying his child, and it had seemed so _honest_ a request, she couldn’t help but consent. “But I… I like when you take charge. If those are the types of games you want to play, I’ll play them.”

“Mmm, I’m glad,” he kissed her forehead, lingering on the bridge of her nose. His pause led her to believe he was on the cusp of sharing something profound, but his next words were, “Let’s clean up.”

Though the shower was brief, Claude was tender as he soaped her body, eager to steal kisses in between. She was happy to return the favor. As soon as she was on the bed again, she passed into a heavy sleep. 

Most of the time was dreamless, but a burst of violent imagery caused her to shudder awake. It was still dark outside, though the horizon was painted a pale apricot. 

Frantically, she reached for her husband. Her fingers dug into the meat of one of his thighs, and he jumped lightly. He was reading by pale lamplight.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, abandoning his book to comfort her. She snuggled against his open lap, but flinched under his touch. 

“No… no. I just can’t sleep anymore,” she replied, wary. The feel of his fingertips on her scalp did soothe her, so she quietly absorbed the attention he gave, and did her best to make sense of what her brain had flashed at her just moments ago.

“Can... you show me Dimitri’s armor?” Byleth asked.

She felt him tense under her.

“Mmm. Yeah.”

* * *

Hand in hand they padded through the museum in slipper-bound feet, clad in pajamas and robes as if this castle were their home. 

His palm grew increasingly clammy in her hand as they wound down the stairs from the keep and through a myriad of exhibits. Or was it her own hand? Anxiety and anticipation made everything start to blur together. Weapons and sets of armor, posed as if ghosts of the allies named on the cases were still wielding and wearing them. But these were not ancient warriors. These had been friends.

Together they stepped over the velvet ropes that separated them from the draped showcase at the center of the room. Claude gave her hand a squeeze before he approached the draped showcase. 

An abject fear crashed into Byleth. This was it.

Claude reached up to grab a fistful of the blue velvet, but hesitated in drawing it back. 

“...Are you ok? We don’t have to--”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Unceremoniously, Claude tugged the curtain and it puddled to the ground in a soft, dusty mound. She didn’t miss the soft gasp of shock he made as he stepped back.

Byleth could not find words. She folded an arm around Claude’s narrow waist, using him for an anchor as much as he needed her.

The glass case housed a wax figure of Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, clad in war-worn black armor, shrouded an enormous fur mantle that made him seem larger than life. His blonde hair was long and shaggy, an eyepatch slung over his right eye socket, a fearsome blue eye tucked under an unforgiving brow. She did not immediately recognize him. This portrayal was not the boy prince she had once loved, but a fearsome warrior king. 

...Yet this _was_ the king who had visited her all those years ago in a dream. She _knew_ this face, though the one he’d shown her had been kind, tempered with regret and longing.

“He’s not nearly handsome enough,” Claude quipped, but his voice was small. 

“You’re right,” Byleth agreed, her voice equally subdued. She tucked her face against Claude’s shoulder, but watched carefully as he pointed a trembling hand at the display. She hadn’t intended to make him unpack his trauma for a second time in as many days. She squeezed him tight and whispered, “Khalid, you don’t have to--”

“You deserve to know,” he said softly, his voice strained. “I want to tell you. He uh…” 

Claude gestured to the left side of ~~Dimitri’s body~~ the wax figure, an area between the breastplate and the plackart. Claude’s sudden lack of composure troubled her. “I found him with a dagger lodged… there. Right into his, ah...” 

Byleth could see the scrapes left by a weapon hastily jabbed between the plates. It was just as Claude had revealed the night before, and it was not the only such set of markings. Her body trembled with grief, with anger. Her gentle, thoughtful Dimitri had lived a short life full of pain, and experienced such a cruel death.

This was disgusting. This whole display--this _entire_ museum--was disrespectful, glorifying war and the death of their loved ones.

“He didn’t deserve this,” she muttered, doing her best to quiet the rage that simmered in her gut, and to wipe away the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

Byleth yelped in gentle surprise when Claude sank to the plush carpet, taking her with him. On his hands and knees, he wailed as if he’d just found Dimitri’s body. His tears stained the carpet where they fell, and his fingers curled so tightly into the fibers his knuckles almost turned white. 

Seeing such a raw display of mourning from Claude was shocking. Despite her own sorrow, Byleth coaxed him to head to rest on her lap, and he clung to her with crushing force.

She said nothing--there was nothing _to_ be said. She understood his grief implicitly. 

A short time later a guard stumbled into the exhibit room, but a weepy-eyed Byleth shook her head, and they left without a word. She was grateful for their discretion. Claude eventually ran out of tears, exhausted. She spoiled him with soft kisses and sweet whispers and I love yous until the clocktower toiled, announcing the morning’s church service. Though she was not beholden to religious affairs here in Fhirdiad, the pair had to make themselves presentable for the long day of meetings with local officials that loomed ahead.

Claude was emotionally and mentally fatigued, and Byleth wasn’t fairing much better. There was no time for him to shave, and she only had time to run a brush through her hair.

She helped him dress for the day, favoring the clothes in his trunk that reflected his Almyran heritage. He was typically immaculate in how he presented himself, and she wanted him to feel good about how he looked, even if he felt listless. Byleth wore a billowing dress cinched under the bust with a lovely patterned sash. The earrings Dedue had gifted them would accompany their ensembles today. 

“Thank you,” Claude said as she replaced his simple gold hoop with the ornate Duscur earring. 

“Of course. Anything for you, Khalid.” She kissed his chin. His stubble felt like sandpaper, but she didn’t care. “I’m sorry I asked that of you…”

“...Dimitri? I was painfully curious,” he pressed his lips together wearily, then slumped against Byleth. His arms slung low around her hips and drew her close. “I feel… lighter now.”

Byleth combed her fingers through his tousled hair, tucking a lock behind his ear in a tender gesture, before placing a kiss there. “I understand what you mean. If you ever want to talk--”

A rapt knock at the door ruined any chance for further conversation. An attendant was here to collect the tardy couple.

The delay meant they had to skip a proper lunch, and snuck bites of meat and cheese in between meetings, as each appointment must be kept. It was stressful but she didn’t want to keep any of their guests waiting. The joy of seeing familiar faces took the edge of her exhaustion.

Finally it was time for their final, and most important, engagement in Fhirdiad.

They would receive their guest in the courtyard. Chilly though it was, it was nice to get fresh air amid the brightly flowering shrubs and birch trees. Byleth stole glances at her husband as they strolled the gravel paths, arm in arm. She was not shy about stealing glances, and particularly liked the way the dappled sunlight caught in his irises. But his lips were pressed together in a strange expression. In that moment, Byleth realized it was not often she saw him frown openly. 

She paused in front of their destination, a black granite archway. “You’re nervous, my love.”

“I haven’t seen him since Gronder.”

Byleth wasn’t sure what to say to comfort him, nor did she understand why he was anxious at all. So she folded her fingers tightly between his and said, “I’m here for you.”

Before they had a chance to discuss it further, the doors at the far end of the narrow gardens opened and an announcement echoed off the dark stone walls. Claude’s careful mask of pleasantries had slipped back on, and she kissed the corner of his innocuous smirk. She wished he didn’t feel the need to be so guarded. They pivoted to watch their guest approach.

He was accompanied by two of her attendants, toting oversized and overflowing baskets of blue flowers. 

Taller than anyone else she had ever met, Byleth felt her stomach flip flop upon seeing him again. He was much less imposing without armor, and had a comforting air. The traditional patterns of Duscur were woven into his soft tunic and the scarf he wore. Though the sides of his head were still closely cropped, the rest of his fine, pale silver hair had grown long, perhaps longer than her own, and cascaded over one shoulder.

This handsome face was one she had not seen for many years. A little more worn by time, but weren’t they all? His expression was solemn, but the warmth in his eyes for Byleth and Claude burned brightly.

“Oh, Dedue,” Byleth smiled. She could feel her eyes watering and did her best to blink away the tears, “it is so good to see you again. Thank you for meeting us today.”

Dedue’s careful smile was so gentle. “Of course, your--” he paused, quickly correcting, “Of course, Byleth. Claude. Congratulations are in order. I’m still sorry I could not make it on your wedding day.”

“Thank you,” Claude spoke up, offering a small bow. The large Duscur earring he wore glittered in the late afternoon light. “It’s good to see you again, Dedue.”

They had shared so much through letters. She ached to hug him, but he had never been one for physical touch. 

A pair of guards brandishing torches approached, and the more senior of the two reached for the keys at his belt. They jingled. 

“Your Grace,” he addressed Byleth. “Ready to descend whenever you are.”

Their stalwart manner brought her back down from the cloud of happy feelings, to a place more subdued. Their most important appointment was about to commence. She sighed softly, and squeezed Claude’s hand for strength.

“...Shall we?”

The massive doors squealed and creaked as they were pushed open. And so the little group passed through the archway and descended the long, winding stairs to the ancient Blaiddyd family catacombs.

It was time to pay their respects to someone so beloved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut smut SMUT! these two deserved it 😭
> 
> I did my best to keep the plot moving forward despite all of their sexy times. Please look forward to the next handful of chapters. :3
> 
> I look forward to your comments. 🙇♀️


	10. Make A Mark In The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to Derdriu is long, cold and uncomfortable.
> 
> Really, reading was out of the question. But he kept trying, eager for any distraction to pass the time. 
> 
> Byleth is eager to soothe her husband's discomfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some well deserved fluff, smut and character development for these two. 
> 
> CW: Breathplay, dubcon, somnophilia.

Really, reading was out of the question. But he kept trying, eager for any distraction to pass the time. The steep angle of his neck, craning downwards to take in every word in the dim light, had taken its toll. He closed the tome and took a moment to stretch, but the wheels of their ornate carriage rolled and slipped over _another_ bump on the road. His stomach lurched horribly. Khalid stared out the window as if the solution to his motion sickness waited patiently beyond the bend.

He hadn’t spent enough time in Alliance territory to _truly_ learn the seasons, and everything he’d read hadn’t prepared him for the reality of Summer. On this shallow mountain range that separated the former Kingdom of Faerghus from the lands of Leicester Alliance, the air was wet and heavy with cold, and the sky and sea beyond, so many shades of gray. A microclimate, scholars called it.

Byleth was slumped against her side of the carriage, unperturbed by any slip of the carriage or the coachmen barking orders. She’d bundled herself in her own thick wool blanket, and somehow, she’d fallen asleep shortly after they’d left Galatea territory this morning. Her long, minty locks were tied up in a ponytail, and the wide black ribbon reminded him of the way Hilda used to style her hair during the war. It was cute.

At rest, the Ashen Demon looked like a porcelain doll that had belonged to one of his half-sisters, the finely crafted toy hailing from a distant land east of Almyra.

Ah, but Byleth was more precious than any child’s toy.

Despite Byleth choosing Edelgard, despite the ugly war that had divided the country, despite his cowardly crawl over the Throat to go into hiding with the hope of being forgotten, fate had drawn them together again.

After everything, Byleth was still the key to fulfilling his ambition.

As the cold summer rain pitter-pattered rhythmically on the roof, he again tried to convince himself he’d only entered their union to benefit himself. He could use her innate strength and position as Archbishop, enjoy her body, and finally, demand respect from the Almyran court… all while keeping his distance emotionally.

That practical, callous role he’d intended to keep had melted as the moons wore on. Intentionally or not, Byleth had broken his defenses more quickly than he’d admit if ever someone asked. His carefully plotted plan to secure his seat on the throne had been mentally rewritten dozens of times since.

Byleth had changed the course of history. Such _power_ was in her slight body, but more than that...

His book forgotten, Khalid was overcome with the desire to breathe in the scent of her. To taste her skin. To let his hands wander over the peaks and valleys of her body, to draw gasps and moans from her. Initiating and reciprocating intimacy with another person was a luxury he hadn’t fully experienced before Byleth, and he couldn’t get enough.

Was it selfish to want someone this much?

Khalid’s fingers curled against her cheek before he was aware of what he’d done.

He tensed when Byleth drew a sharp breath, and retreated as she stirred. Even by the dim light in the carriage, her wide eyes appeared bright, glowing softly from whatever Goddess-kissed power lay within.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said quietly out of consideration for her groggy state. She blinked a few times before smiling so brilliantly his heart skipped a beat.

“I don’t know how you managed to sleep,” he continued in that soft tone. She stretched like a cat, with thorough, careful intent.

“Mmm. The sway of the carriage is comforting,” Byleth said, adjusting so she could press to his side.

“Comforting? It’s absolutely the opposite,” he whined back.

She readjusted her blanket to cover the two of them then snuggled against his side, slipping an arm low around his abdomen. The book he’d been attempting to peruse fell between his booted feet with a loud thud. Its pages splayed open uncouthly and Khalid hissed in sympathy for the damn thing.

“You’ve been trying to _read_?” she chastised as he darted to retrieve the bruised tome.

“Caught me red-handed,” he offered weakly, preoccupied with bending the pages gently back in the proper direction.

She started rooting through a bag of belongings at her feet. “You _know_ that’s only going to make your motion sickness worse.”

Claude laughed--it was a hollow, self-conscious sound. “There isn’t much to distrac--”

The carriage lurched again and he clutched the window frame as if it would save him from this horrible sensation.

She was quick to procure a small tin. Byleth twisted it apart to reveal thickly cut yellow slivers, each encrusted in large grains of sugar. The sweets were a confectioners’ idea of candy coins. She gently shook the open tin to entice him, then said, “Have a few more.”

“I took some when we left. I’m tired of swee--”

Before he could finish, she shoved a large piece of candy in his mouth. The crystalized ginger burned sharply for a brief moment, then mellowed into a sweet warmth that pooled in his belly as he chewed. He plucked two more pieces from the container before Byleth seemed satisfied.

“I know, my love. It’s a shame this leg of the trip is so dreadful,” she commented. “I don’t like being stuck in this box.”

_My love._ The words made him melt like rock sugar stirred into hot tea. It was too casually kind, and he decided he had to ruin it just a bit.

“Tired of me already?” he teased around a mouthful of candy.

A confused, frowning Byleth took a moment to decipher his self-defeating joke. She poked his candy-filled cheek with a gentle finger. “Never.”

“ _Ah_.”

It was difficult for Claude, a man who quietly prided himself on planning, scheming and self-control, to resist Byleth when she expressed such fond feelings for him so plainly. So despite the rolling sensation in his stomach, he took her lips in a languid, ginger-flavored kiss.

Upon parting, he saw the same longing that caused his pulse to race.

But the carriage jostled again, and so did that sick feeling--

He must’ve worn a queasy look on his face, for Byleth pressed a firm hand to his chest in an unspoken ask for pause.

“Let’s lay down. It’ll help,” she suggested.

Carefully stowing his treasured book away, Byleth made a poorly-padded nest on the floor of the carriage by laying one of their wool blankets to serve as a mattress. She then pulled the seat cushion from the opposite bench to serve as an awkwardly long pillow. She beckoned him close.

As he settled, she unfurled the other blanket over them with a flourish, taking extra effort to tuck him in. He laughed softly.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Immeasurably,” he answered. She pressed a kiss to his brow as she settled beside him, her limbs slung over his body. Their idle chit-chat and her warmth soothed him; sleep claimed him quickly.

The dream that appeared was vivid beyond measure.

_Wyverns screamed overhead. The sound of the sea lapped at his back. The smell of fire and ash mingling with the scent of the sea made his nostrils sting. The city he’d spent summers of lovely, idle days in as a young boy crumbled before his eyes, as if made of salt. Derdriu._

_Red banners flashed over the hills and his wyvern bellowed in warning, the reverb shaking him to his core. His brave steed’s fear was so palpable it made him sick._

_With a reeling sensation, reality changed nebulously around him. Khalid looked at his hands only to watch as Failnaught crumbled to dust on the seabreeze._

_His beloved wyvern disappeared from under him--as did his clothes--and his shoulder and hip throbbed with pain from crashing onto the stony pier below. There was a void of silence where there had once been the roar of wyverns and the battle cries of their riders. There was no sign of his Almyran allies; he was beginning to doubt if he’d had their support at all._

_His attempt to stand was thwarted by a flash of mint charging toward him._

_“Teach, you--” Stopping just short of where he trembled, Khalid braced himself for the swing of her blade to make contact with his flesh._

_The Sword of the Creator stung where its blade pressed to his throat. He hissed as the point dragged unkindly upwards to force his gaze._

_“It seems you’ve bested me, Professor,” he heard himself say, expending a great effort to keep his voice even. “Wouldn’t it be better to let me go, have me in your debt?” he appealed, raising his tone so that Edelgard, only paces behind his assailant, might hear._

_The Ashen Demon appraised her catch carefully._

_“I prefer to keep bloodshed to a minimum.” Edelgard said simply to her protector, standing only paces behind with that bloody, pulsating relic axe in hand._

_It didn’t take much for Khalid to unravel the subtext of the Emperor’s statement. They were cut from the same cloth, he and Edelgard--but he was the selvage to her silk, and would not unravel so easily._

_Byleth’s cold demeanor intensified, chilling him to the bone._

_Of all the scenarios he’d run in his head, none had quite this outcome. Sacrificing himself had never been a part of the plan._

_The stag was supposed to cower under the dragon’s frigid stare._

_His gaze held firm, but he conceded somberly, “It seems I’ve read this all wrong--”_

_“No,” Byleth interrupted sharply, addressing the Emperor._

_Something softened in Byleth’s eyes. Perhaps the time spent subtly (and not-so-subtly) persuading Byleth to lead his class meant something?_

_“I will take him as my prize.”_

_Before he could process the full implication of her words, the Derdriu set swirled and set itself around him once more._

_Embarrassingly, Edelgard and Hubert stood only paces away, paying no heed to the scene playing behind them._

_Still on his knees, Byleth was tightening a measure of rope that had been secured around his wrists, keeping his hands bound at the small of his back. The familiar, lightheaded sensation of lust left him drunk for his captor._

_“You’re hard already? Have you always been hot for ‘Teach,’ Claude?” she demanded with a sneer as she circled him with careful, concise steps, heels clicking on the cobblestone._

_A shiver ran down his spine. He tried to answer, but coherent words left him when Byleth dipped to speak in his ear._

_“Pervert,” she exhaled, the tip of her tongue leaving behind a hot streak of pleasure on the lobe that pulsed through his body and pooled between his legs. A pitiful moan tumbled from his lips._

_Byleth was sorely mistaken. This was not merely lust; he **loved** her. _

_Yet he could not tell her so. His tongue felt coated with molasses as he struggled to find words, lips parting uselessly._

_She recognized a flash of affection in his eyes and a cruel little smile appeared._

_The toe of her black leather boot dragged along his inner thigh, pausing under the drop of his balls. It didn’t take much jostling before he cried out, the sound echoing back from the bay._

_The smile grew sinister across her face._

_“Should I suck you, or should I fuck you?” the Ashen Demon mused crudely, crooking her head to one side as she considered._

_She crouched in front of him to palm his burgeoning erection. “The Almyran court will be shocked to hear their Crown Prince has become nothing but a fucktoy for a lowly merc like me.”_

_Crown Prince? His secret laid bare was more embarrassing than being naked or touched like this. There was nowhere to hide and no way to escape._

_“I’m not--”_

_Her sword clattered to the ground. “Shut up.”_

_She knelt between his legs. Her hand was calloused and warm as she fondled him, dipping to lap the underside of his cock like a kitten. He mewled to match. She swirled her tongue broadly over his tip--there was no room to think, only feel--before her mouth sunk wetly over his length._

The pulsating, electric sensation of pleasure made Khalid gasp awake.

Byleth emerged mischievously from underneath the blanket and glided over his torso to seize him in a kiss, disheveled and proud. The taste of himself on her tongue was intoxicating. It was not lost on him that his impish wife did not _let_ go of his cock.

“Fuck, By--”

“Is this okay?” she whispered with a pout, as if she were ashamed of waking him in such a manner when clearly... she was certainly not. He twitched in her hand; his mind reeled as it worked to separate dream from reality. His desire felt more intense than usual; was it due to the dream, or the way she woke him?

His fingers found the nape of her skull, nudging Byleth for another kiss. “More than okay.”

Byleth gifted a pretty little smile as she melted into his touch. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, love.” Her tone was low and measured before as she said the next, having swapped to pitch-perfect Almyran. “I’ve thought about it, Khalid...”

He inhaled sharply at being addressed by his birth name. She had his utmost attention--but tortuously, she was doing everything she could to distract him. With short, concise flicks of her wrist her grasp glided over his delicate skin; his hips jolted into her palm. An embarrassing high-pitched whimper made his face and chest burn.

“Ah-ah. Don’t get too excited,” she warned breathily, but did not discourage him from rutting into her hand.

“Do you want my attention, or do you want my _attention_?” he purred, letting his gaze drop appraisingly over her body. One hand grasped her hip, encouraging Byleth to rock against his thigh. Even through their clothes he could feel the heat of her.

It was her turn to make tantalizing little noises of pleasure as she lost herself. Lazy kisses were shared as he attempted to turn the tide in his favor. It was no use; Byleth swatted him off. “Okay, okay... no touching,” Khalid conceded.

Byleth wore a small frown as she worked to regain her composure.

“You may be a King, but I am your Queen, and the ruler of this realm.”

“...Oh.” He wouldn’t admit it, but she could command him to do practically _anything_ with that tone of voice. Claude relaxed against the bench behind him, arms outstretched comfortably along the width of the seat. “I quite like where this is going--”

“ _Silence_.”

Byleth peeled the blanket away with a flourish. While he’d been sleeping she had tugged his pants low around his waist, leaving him exposed to anything she desired. She flashed a smile despite herself--it was a sneaky, cute little thing--before she slipped back into her persona.

His boots were next to go, heavily striking the floor in a succession of thuds. After a bit of tugging, his pants and undergarments were pulled from one ankle and left in a crumple around the other.

“I expect you’ll comply with my desires,” she said next, reaching one hand to the back of her head. The ribbon he’d so admired just a little while ago came undone, her hair crashing in waves around her shoulders. The length of the black silk ribbon made a satisfying sound as she pulled it taut between her hands.

The sense of pageantry she had about this impromptu tryst _thrilled_ him.

Khalid flushed even more deeply as she looped the ribbon between his legs, cradling the generous, soft skin below his cock. He watched curiously as Byleth proceeded to wrap his jewels in a loose but intricate series of ties. But once Khalid processed what she was doing, his heart threatened to leave his chest.

“How would you feel about something like this?”

He’d had lost his tongue. He stammered something that sounded like an approval to his own ears, but was pretty sure it was gibberish. Byleth laughed and stroked between his legs lovingly.

“I pay attention to what you read, love,” she said, paying him a glance as she diligently reworked the ties.

Gods, she was perfect for him.

It wasn’t long before his cock was more purpled, more _veiny,_ than he’d ever seen it. The ribbon made a gentle, satisfying sound of friction as she tied tight a pretty bow around his thick stem; with that her handiwork was complete.

For the moment, Byleth appeared to be satisfied.

A heavy bead of moisture appeared on his tip and she smeared it away with her thumb. A strained noise escaped from Khalid’s throat. She squirmed against his thigh in delight.

“You’ll be a good boy before I fuck you, won’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer while he panted and pumped greedily into her hand. In the next breath she said, “Now be _quiet_ , the coachman and our _entire_ escort are listening.”

Khalid’s head rolled back to regard her deviously. She’d never cared much about being quiet while they made love, in fact she seemed to take pride in the sounds they made, but this game was about control.

There was no opening for a witty retort as she worked him up. Another thin spurt of moisture was coaxed from his body, smearing her palm.

“You always make such a mess,” Byleth feigned annoyance. She let go of him; his cock smacked his stomach with a dull thud. She was obviously delighting in his discomfort as she swirled her tongue decadently around each soiled finger.

” _Byleth_ ,” he gritted through his teeth.

The horny, tortured man could only stare, transfixed by the sight of her agile tongue. He grunted uncouthly, shifting his hips. With an expectant grin, he said, “Your mouth, if you would--”

The next motion she made was but a blur; he cried out as Byleth tugged on his balls lightly in ‘punishment’. The careful strength in her grip was intoxicating--she could easily crush him but chose only to exert enough pressure to make him writhe.

“Ah, ah--” Khalid’s head rolled back in bliss, revealing his throat as he panted.

“You look so pretty when you’re desperate,” she purred, placing a loving palm to his cheek. Her knuckles cascaded fondly along his jaw and chin before slipping to encase his throat.

The startled noise he made when she squeezed his balls again made her smile triumphantly.

_Yes_ , he pleaded with his eyes when her fingertips jostled his Adam's apple.

Oh, the bruises she might leave! He shuddered in delight at the thought. But before she indulged him in _that_ particular pleasure, her hands strayed to the buttons on his shirt. Making quick work of it, she smoothed the fine dress shirt open so she could play in the hair that covered his chest, then sat back to admire her treasure.

She arched her back, making a show of peeling off her top. Her breasts wobbled as gravity claimed them, settling pleasingly on her bare ribcage.

“A glorious sight,” he praised. She shot a look down her nose but let the transgression slide.

“You’re not so bad, yourself,” she said softly, reaching both hands toward his face. They shared a gentle kiss.

Then, like a cat raking its claws over a log, she reveled in pulling red marks down his throat, chest and low over his abdomen, ending at his sensitive inner thighs.

He could not stifle his cries of delight.

Her mouth followed. Wet kisses pressed along his jaw. The tender skin there was nibbled and savored, but only for a moment. Her lips fluttered further south.

She nuzzled his chest, cupping and massaging his muscles. She took one nipple between her lips and suckled and tongued until it was pert and puffy between her lips, thumbing its lonely sibling until it was an erect nub.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Khalid breathed as she traded sides. Now her fingertips played at the sensitive nip, unkindly twisting and turning it until he trembled beneath her. She rubbed his chest in an affectionate apology then continued her trek along the downward trail his muscles made, the treasure finally within lips’ reach.

Poised between his legs, he could feel her the heat of her sweet mouth tantalizingly close to where he wanted it.

Without warning, Byleth swiped her tongue against one of his tender, swollen testicles. The flash of pleasure was exquisite. He cried weakly, legs quivering.

“Talk any more and I’ll bite you,” she warned.

Ah, but they both knew he _wanted_ that.

“Suck my cock and I’ll shut up,” he challenged, regarding her haughtily.

“How crude.” Byleth sneered in disapproval. “How _dare_ you speak to me like that.”

Her teeth seized the soft skin of his balls. Khalid howled, bracing against the inside of the carriage as it bounced over the uneven road. He felt her smile against his tender flesh. She suckled at the tender mark she’d made, tonguing it in a tortuous apology. Byleth nosed further between his legs, huffing the scent of his skin.

Khalid groaned. With a heavy sigh he stared at the upholstered ceiling of the carriage in the effort to center himself. She--and this--was everything he had ever dreamed of in a relationship. The calloused hands of his warrior-archbishop wife pressed underneath his knees to provide her more access. His well-muscled thighs trembled in anticipation.

“Are you okay?” came her sweet voice.

After a time, he met her eyes again. Concern was etched on her pretty face.

“Yes,” was his answer.

She offered a pleased smile, then brought her attention back to doting over the treasures before her. The Queen was generous with her attention. Her tongue painted a hot trail back and forth over his taint before working her way back up to tease and tickle the rest of him.

“Such a mess I’ve made of you,” his Queen exalted, ignoring the cock ticking impatiently above the hard planes of his stomach. She leaned in to study the result of her work. Careful fingertips poked the bite marks she’d left, then traced along the raised, reddened trails her nails had made along his flanks.

“Mmm. You’re so thick now,” Byleth hovered close, gliding a gentle finger along the most prominent vein on his cock. Her hot breath drove him mad.

“You’ve been teasing me for so long I’ve lost track of what _day_ it is,” he hissed.

He whimpered pitifully as she wetly kissed every part of him _except_ the place he wanted most.

“Oh, you _poor_ thing.”

Byleth shimmied one leg free of her loose black slacks and underwear, then slotted herself low over his hips. She gently pressed him against her slit. The heat of her was divine.

“Pick a word,” she said.

_A safeword_. His body tingled with anticipation.

“D-dagger,” he gasped as she jerked him. He couldn’t help bucking into her fist, but this time she didn’t admonish him for it.

“ _Dagger_ ,” Byleth repeated with a nod, then explained, “I’m going to fuck you thoroughly. _I_ decide when you can cum. Is that clear?”

“Yes. Crystal,” Khalid gritted as he trembled beneath her. He’d have to scrape together the last vestiges of willpower so as not to disappoint his demanding wife.

With one hand she braced her weight on the bench at her back, and Byleth spread her thighs wide to allow him a view. She glistened, plainly as desperate as he to finish what she’d started. Guiding his erection, Byleth rubbed herself against his length from base to tip then back again.

He was absolutely mesmerized.

The carriage shuddered and creaked as it rolled over another precarious dip in the road. Byleth was propelled forward with a shocked yelp.

The game was forgotten. Archer reflexes took over and Khalid grabbed her hips before she ended up becoming intimate with the wall of the carriage behind him.

“Shhh, I gotcha. You okay?” he breathed in her ear.

The surprise in her eyes melted. Her breath was hot as she buried her face against his neck. “I’m okay,” her lips murmured in a flutter against his ear.

After some time, Byleth placed her hands on either side of his head. She braced far enough apart for them to indulge in lazy kisses.

“Pardon the interlude,” she smirked, pressing a kiss to his nose before she tipped backwards once more. With a practiced hand she guided him to her core.

A low, lewd hum escaped her as she finally took him inside. Khalid gasped at the velvety heat.

He winced in pleasure and drew a strained breath. He had to control himself despite his baser urges. “You’re already tight--”

“Mmm,” was the only answer she mustered, focused on her own pleasure now. She’d earned every bit of it after treating him so well. Although he wished to bring her to climax with his hands, his mouth, his fingers or tongue, he also cherished her agency, transfixed as she used him as she saw fit.

She rocked slowly, one arm supporting her gloriously generous bust as she set the pace. He was utterly transfixed by the spill and sway of her breasts. The stain of blush she wore on her cheeks, the dew on her skin, the triumphant light in her eyes, this look, just for him-- moments like this were something he’d cherish, always.

Byleth tipped forward, nails biting into his pecs. With a strangled cry, she came, fiercely determined to gyrate through her orgasm.

“Feel good, love?”

“ _Quiet_ ,” she demanded through gritted teeth. Soon after, her body tensed and relaxed a second time. She sought more kisses throughout, the leisurely grind of her hips allowing her to catch her breath.

Byleth’s small hand tested his throat again. He placed his hand over hers in permission, and held her gaze eagerly.

“Sit up and lean forward,” she instructed. Still slotted together at the hip, they maneuvered so he could do just that.

He pressed in carefully at first; she moved slowly in kind. He savored the closeness, and as the pressure increased, the heightened sensation of her touch, the look in her eyes.

Byleth was a goddess, and though he was not a religious man, he intended to be her most devout worshipper. She held the power to crush and control him and he was but a fool who dared to test her.

Khalid grew brave and pressed into her hand as much as he could stand. Quickly, he grew delirious. Was this sensation pleasure or pain?

“Khalid,” she called through the dark. All he could see were her eyes, which faded into a field of stars. The sound and friction of the ribbon undone between them and the overwhelming feeling of orgasm overtook his senses. And then there was darkness.

He was only minutely aware of being coaxed to lay down by his wonderfully tiresome wife.

Despite the small space afforded by the carriage, Byleth nuzzled close. Her warmth and the gentle clean scent of her hair pulled him under another spell of sleep.

* * *

Khalid stirred, taking a sharp breath. The plod of mud and crunch of gravel beneath them had been replaced by an even thrum and bounce of wheels over cobblestone.

“We’re almost there,” bloomed a whisper, followed by a nibble along the shell of his ear. Byleth had propped herself up on an elbow, one leg slung posessively over his hips. She’d drawn his pants back up at some point and made herself decent, as well.

“Mmm, hello.”

Through half-lidded eyes he found her watching him warmly. She dipped to savor his lips in a kiss.

“Been awake for long?” he asked as they untangled. She sat back upon the bench in front of him. He did not miss that she’d wrapped the ribbon from their tryst around her wrist like a prize, tied off in a nondescript manner.

“Mmmm. Maybe an hour,” she said. He was keenly aware of Byleth watching as he pulled his crumpled shirt closed and worked down the placard of buttons. She plucked his unraveled cravat from where it’d puddled on the floor. While her desire for him had never been insincere, it was only recently that he _believed_ it.

“An hour?” he settled on the bench beside her with a gruff sigh, then rolled his shoulders. Every muscle in his body had grown stiff from their impromptu nap on the floor, but he didn’t mind. “Couldn’t stop looking at my face, huh?”

Byleth tipped her head back and laughed fondly. “I could never tire of you, my handsome one.”

Again, Claude was unsure how to react to his wife’s bold compliment. Before he could fluster out a reply, she said, “I take good care of what is mine.”

Byleth slotted herself in his lap to kiss him a half-dozen times more, her fingertips scraping his scalp delightfully. Another bump in the road made their lips part, but she clung closely to his chest. Pressed chest to thigh as they were, was a comfort.

She slipped the loose silk of his undone cravat around his neck, pulling the fabric higher than usual. Despite her gentle touch, the rub of the soft fabric was tender against his skin.

“That will have to do,” she sighed, finishing the complex tie. Small hands smoothed over his shoulders, and she grimaced. “We may have gone a little hard for the first time.”

“Bruised?” He tested the cravat at his throat to find it in a different style than he preferred, folded high to his ears, with the tails wrapped into a low tie at the front. He recognized it vaguely as a horse collar tie. Lorenz would have shrieked at the sight of the Leader of the Alliance wearing such an _uncouth_ knot. The thought led to a smile more bittersweet than he intended. “I certainly didn’t mind.”

Byleth grew serious, her eyes dancing as they searched his. “The last thing I want is to hurt you, Khalid,” the Archbishop’s voice was quiet. “You're the most precious person in the world to me. You know that, right?”

It was his turn to demand a kiss. His heart was full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Happy Holidays! I hope update this brings some joy to you!
> 
> Wow, last update in April, huh. A lot has changed for me (including a move across the globe), but I've been writing this whole time. The whole pandemic situation has made me so heartbroken that I really fell into it, and it's been hard to find natural breaks in the prose. I strong-armed this one into a standalone chapter and will be doing the same for the remainder.
> 
> I'm really not into breathplay but I see it as canon for Claude so of course, Byleth must oblige. 
> 
> I also lowkey HC that as their journey across Fodlan continues, his motion sickness gets worse. Like how if you drive a lot you feel sick when you're a passenger. Someone needs a new wyvern. :(
> 
> Next chapter is Derdriu! I'm excited about expanding on the city since the game gave us absolutely nothing but one ugly map! :)


	11. The Space Between the Finish and the Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The air was thick with the scent of the sea; of decay, of life, of hope, of adventure. Derdriu.
> 
> “Not so shabby for a little seaside town,” he offered. From the corner of his eye, he watched as she took in the landscape that lay ahead.
> 
> “Not shabby at all.” Byleth hummed in soft agreement, then turned happily toward him, “I can’t wait to discover it with you.”
> 
> Khalid preened and puffed. She liked his city! 
> 
> \--
> 
> Part 1 of the Derdriu Honeymoon Arc
> 
> CW: for mention of racist microaggressions / canon-typical racism

The air was thick with the scent of the sea; of decay, of life, of hope, of adventure. Derdriu.

On their final approach, Khalid called for the carriage stopped at the apex of the highest hill. Although this territory was no longer his, pride swelled through his chest. It was as if the clouds had parted just for them, warm beams of sunlight revealing a beautiful portrait of the former capital.

The two emerged from the darkness of the coach; it felt good to stretch his legs. Byleth cracked her back as she approached the retaining wall, and marveled in the cityscape that sprawled before them.

The silhouettes of spires and other landmarks stood boldly against the unfurling dusk, and lanterns of all colors and sizes glittered in the shifting light. Despite the cold, wet weather that had spoiled their trek, mother nature had come through in the end--even he was feeling sentimental about the view.

“Not so shabby for a little seaside town,” he offered. From the corner of his eye, he watched as she took in the landscape that lay ahead.

“Not shabby at all.” She hummed in soft agreement, then turned happily toward him, “I can’t wait to discover it with you.”

Khalid preened and puffed. _She liked his city!_

“You never had the chance to learn much about the Alliance, did you?”

“Unfortunately, no. Tell me everything,” she said, tearing her eyes away from the intrigue of the horizon long enough to flash him a most radiant smile. In the warm afternoon light her hair almost looked golden.

Beautiful.

He had to focus.

“Huh! Uh... _well_... welcome to Derdriu,” he said pridefully, offering a small bow before they went back inside the carriage. As he climbed after her, he added, “As you know, it’s the capital of the former Leicester Alliance, and the _pulse_ of Fódlan.”

“The pulse, hmm?” Byleth narrowed her eyes in suspicion as the carriage rolled on. A smirk played on her lips. “That’s a dubious claim at best. _Garreg Mach_ is certainly the center of culture in Fódlan,” she taunted slyly.

Khalid was unable to stop his nose from wrinkling in disgust.

“Poor form that a former professor is out here spreading _blatant_ propaganda, _Teach_.”

Oh, how she laughed at that. It was infectious.

 _If you’d picked me, I would’ve shown you the Alliance and the world beyond,_ unfurled an unexpected voice. The intrusive thought made his mood falter, for such a sentiment was unfair.

He squashed it back into the little box it’d crawled out from.

So Khalid smiled charmingly for her, and for himself, lest that nagging thought force its way from his lips.

“Garreg Mach? A cultural institution? _Hardly_.” He feigned insult, which sent them into a spiral of good natured teases and taunts.

“I won’t bore you with the reality of dealing with a gaggle of bickering old granddads,” he prefaced, tone dry as he recited facts, “but Alliance culture _is_ unique compared to the Kingdom and the Empire. We’re based on the official trade of goods and the unofficial trade of culture and ideas…” Khalid softened before he added the next. “Wish I could’ve indulged in that side of things before, well… everything.”

Byleth hummed. It looked like she might offer _some_ tidbit of guidance, but asked, “Were you close with your family here?”

“Nah, not really. The old man didn’t even know I existed until after my uncle was attacked. He passed away shortly after the coup.”

_After you abandoned us all._

Khalid’s eyes grew round in frustration and rubbed his temples to will away this sudden wave of negative, unresolved feelings disappear. His reluctance to talk must’ve been written all over his face, because Byleth became so very _soft_.

“I’d love to hear more about your family someday,” his wife offered gently, then left it at that. Snuggled against his side, she idly played with the ends of the black ribbon around her wrist, distracted by the ever-changing scenery outside the window.

That ribbon had become a physical manifestation of their trust. If she were so inclined, he’d happily submit himself to her again, in any way she liked, and without hesitation.

So why was talking about this so difficult?

For a few strained minutes, the sound of horse hooves tapping over cobblestone was the only accompaniment to their journey.

Coming to Fódlan had been a risk that he’d shouldered in the name of following his ambition.

 _Was it worth it?_ Khalid asked himself, studying Byleth’s profile. His plans had constantly shifted and rearranged--and no one could have predicted the war. He'd been a naive boy to think that it would’ve been so easy to realize his ambition. Despite her choice to lead another class, Byleth had become a stalwart ally through it all.

That was no accident.

It was fate.

He found the grit to share.

“The first time I met my grandfather, I was seventeen. It felt like we’d just stepped off the ship...”

* * *

**1179, Derdriu**

_He’d been here for barely a day and already he missed the palace in Almyra. It was warm and welcoming, with its wide swaths of sunlight, and the best part… wyverns everywhere, darting in and out of the building’s open corridors. The tiny ones his father loved nested in crevices, while the war wyverns used the palace as a playground._

_Derdriu? The walls here were closed against the chill of the fog that rolled in daily from the sea, but every room felt cold, in spite of the roaring fireplaces. Dozens of paintings of all sizes lined the halls and filled the walls of nearly every room he’d set foot into. There were cats everywhere too, which he supposed was **fine** , but they weren’t wyverns. _

_In the drawing room outside his grandfather’s quarters, they waited. It was comfortable, but of course it was. The old man was the Duke of the Alliance, a title Khalid had a right to inherit._

_Over the rim of her teacup, his mother suddenly murmured in Almyran. “You’ll have to meet him alone.”_

_Khalid’s eyes narrowed. On their journey here, they’d been careful to avoid speaking his mother tongue around others in case of contempt--or worse. He scooted to the edge of his seat and stared into his tea with a sigh. “I know you were pissed about the messenger, but Mama--your father is dying,” he answered in kind, keeping his volume low._

_“The old bastard can rot for all I care.”_

_A mouthful of tea passed his lips in a fine mist and he scrambled for a napkin, setting his cup down with a clatter. The Demon Queen of Almyra--a person he thought had no weaknesses--was acting like a child._

_“He doesn’t deserve to see me, and if you didn’t have a chance at becoming Duke, I’d keep him from seeing you, too. Gods, I tried to keep you away from him and all of this, yet fate reeled you in...”_

_This was news to the young prince. “Mama…”_

_Tiana softened, placing one hand over his. “I would never stop you from pursuing what your heart desires, my love. If you decide to accept, Judith will be here in Derdriu to guide you. But I’ll be heading home on the last ship tonight, regardless of your choice.”_

_“Yikes.”_

_He placed a small baked sweet in his mouth and was disgusted to find it was dry and flavorless. A thought occurred to him--was this Fódlan in a nutshell? He almost laughed a cloud of crumbs into his mother’s face._

_“What’s so funny?”_

_“This place,” he waved a triangle-shaped cucumber sandwich before taking a bite. It was missing curry and pepper. He was already disappointed. “Mmm, it’s so--”_

_Bland._

_A footman appeared in the doorway. “Miss von Riegan, his Grace is ready to see you now.”_

_She stubbornly reached for a sandwich and frowned at it. Khalid gained some understanding._

_With a sigh the young man stood, smoothing out the sleeves of strange, close-fitting formalwear his mother had urged him to wear to “blend in”--but it was no use, he stuck out like a white wyvern in a flock of browns._

_“Uh. Okay then. Enjoy your teatime, I guess.”_

_He followed the attendant to the end of the short hall._

_The grand doors opened. It was... another boring room of paintings._

_“Your Grace…” the footman glanced at Khalid nervously._

_Would the fellow try to pronounce his name?_

_“The young von Riegan heir is here to see you.”_

_Nope._

_An older man was seated behind a wide desk, frantically scratching at parchment with a quill pen. In comparison to his older relatives in Almyra, this man looked soft, pale and weak. His hair must’ve been the same color as Mama’s once, but it was now a faded mass of waves pomaded back against his skull._

_“So she was too cowardly to show her face,” croaked the old man._

_The first thing Oswald von Riegan did was to insult his mother. Fantastic._

_“Heeey, Grandpa Oswald.”_

_He glanced at Khalid for a brief moment. “Yes?” the man sighed, as if this interruption was a regular and annoying occurrence, although Khalid had never been here before. “Are you my supposed heir?”_

_Khalid stepped closer to the desk to let the man stare in that awkward, rude way people often did, trying to make sense of what he ‘was’. There was an added layer of being appraised like a prize pony in a show-ring._

_It made him bristle._

_“I’m practically chair bound and half blind. Come closer, boy. Let me have a look at you.”_

_Khalid obliged, but not without complaint. “So you can appraise me like a hog for slaughter?”_

_Oswald barked a laugh. “You have your mother’s spiteful mouth.”_

_Khalid ignored that, offering a scant smile. The Almyran prince circled behind the desk to stand before his grandfather to be... examined. The old man braced against the desk and stood._

_Their heights were not so different. Even though it was only mid-morning, there was alcohol on his grandfather’s fetid breath. Gross._

_Wild-eyed, he leaned close to Khalid. It was then the young man learned that he shared his eye color with Oswald and Tiana._

_Did Mama take after her own mother?_

_“...And I suppose, her eyes.” Oswald sunk back into his chair with a strained sound, and Khalid stepped to the front of the desk again, hands politely at his lower back. “Not much else.”_

_“Funny. Everyone in Almyra tells me how weak and Fódlani I look, ‘just like Queen Tiana,’” he rebutted._

_Oswald ignored that._

_“I never expected good would come of Tiana running away with that scoundrel,” Oswald scoffed. The resentment this man held for his daughter ran deep and bitter indeed._

_The prince was a master at concealing his emotions, but even that comment drew a disgusted look from the young man. “Sorry, uh… scoundrel?”_

_“She was so infatuated with him, it didn’t matter what I threatened.”_

_“Yikes. You mean the **prince** she eloped with? The… uh, heir-now-King of the country Of Almyra?”_

_Oswald slammed the desk with his open palm with an unwarranted amount of anger. Perhaps he was senile, reliving a memory. “Does she realize how much shame she brought onto this house by running away with a beas--”_

_“Ok then, moving on--”_

_“A crestless daughter is worthless.”_

_In just two sentences Khalid understood why Mama had run away with Papa._

_Tiana was right. He really was an old bastard._

_“Anyway, boy. Your name?”_

_“I’m Khalid Al-Palmyra, the Stargazer, first of his name.” Khalid said with a flourishing bow._

_The title had never been earned, but Oswald didn’t need to know that. This was a good chance to try out how it sounded. It was a fine title, and perhaps he’d grow into it someday._

_The triumphant moment missed its mark. Khalid glanced upward to find his grandfather with a severe frown._

_“Hmm. Kuh-laude?”_

_“Ah. No. Khalid. Kuh-leed,” he tried to coach._

_“Ka-laude.”_

_With each of the half-dozen attempts, his grandfather struggled with each syllable of his name in a new and entirely frustrating way._

_“Hmph. It doesn’t matter. That name will never be accepted by anyone in Fódlan with an ounce of common sense. You shall be Claude.”_

_Khalid took a moment to process the slights the Duke so easily threw at him. If he’d been seven instead of seventeen, he would’ve protested indignantly, and cried to Tiana about it later._

_However, he was on the cusp of adulthood, so the illusion of decorum had to be maintained. He didn’t have it in him to be a perfectly stuffy noble, but he’d be cordial to get what he needed._

_“...Sure.”_

_“And you claim to have a crest.”_

_Before Khalid refuted his claim, Oswald bellowed, “Gallois!”_

_An awkward and bespectacled middle-aged man entered the room, pushing a serving cart with what appeared to be a disc made of metal and glass mounted to the top._

_“Is the device ready?”_

_“Yes, your Grace. It’s in functioning order, according to the specifications Hanneman provided.”_

_This Gallois fella was nervous and the feeling was (unfortunately) infectious. Khalid didn’t doubt he had a crest, but the anxiety poured off this man in waves._

_“Please, young sir, hold out your hand. Yes, like that. Perfect. This won’t hurt, but it may feel strange.”_

_Gallois lifted a hand and began to recite an incantation._

_The device whirred to life with a purple glow and a tingle of magic entered through his fingertips. Power condensed in his palm before circulating through the rest of his body. It made every hair stand on end._

_But nothing happened._

_“Mmm.”_

_Khalid did not consider himself religious, but in this moment he summoned the favor of any god that cared to listen._

_Suddenly, a golden crescent moon hovered above his palm, instantly validating his lineage._

_“Wow. Wouldja look at that,” Khalid murmured with wonder._

_The manifestation of his crest, his future, literally in the palm of his hand._

_Suddenly the iconography plastered around the manor made perfect sense. It was not merely a design element. It was an identity. His birthright. It may not be the crown of Almyra, but a Duke was a title worth bragging about, and something his half-brothers would not have the chance to claim._

_Let them squabble._

_“Unmistakable. He has the minor crest of Riegan. He is very much the heir presumptive, your Grace.”_

_“Oh, there is no other heir. The Goddess has blessed you, child. Our generations-long claim to the Alliance will not be lost.”_

_Oswald’s entire demeanor toward Khalid had changed. He gazed greedily upon the young man as if he was a rare and precious treasure._

_The prince didn’t like that one bit._

_...But, as this served his ambition, it was… tolerable. If he’d stayed in Almyra, he would’ve had no chance at his father’s throne--older half brothers had seen to that, just by existing. Khalid was at the bottom of the ladder. Everything else they’d done to him hadn’t helped his position._

_“Well then, go on. Introduce yourself properly, lad. You are to be the Duke of the Alliance, don’t forget that.”_

_He was ‘lad’ now, huh. ~~Khalid~~ Claude had been here for less than a day and was already tired of this charade._

_“Claude von Riegan, heir to the Dukedom of the Leicester Alliance.”_

* * *

“And that’s that--”

The carriage lurched to a stop, taking the two by surprise.

Byleth became stuck to the window, possessed with the wonder of a child.

These streets--wide and welcoming to those from Fódlan and those visiting from abroad alike--were the most familiar to Khalid. Close to the docks, tucked between warehouses, were large workshops that specialized in delicately painted porcelain or intricate metalworking.

“...Still feels like home,” he said with quiet, fond appreciation. New businesses had filled in between old familiar ones, and the people seemed just as vibrant. Byleth had done well in delegating to preserve the city in his absence; there had been motions in favor of striking down many of these old buildings before he’d fled. He’d learned quickly to never underestimate weaselly old men trying to get their way even when the world was crashing down around them.

The former Duke watched in amusement as questions played on Byleth’s lips, but before she could make a fully formed thought, they rolled by something _else_ that delighted her.

“Look at the detail on the balconies! Why… it’s beautiful for no reason! Is there a wyvern decorating that arch?” They rolled by and she stared, doing her best to commit it to memory. “Everything at Garreg Mach is dreadfully practical--”

Oh, she was adorable. Derdriu was a nice city, but nothing compared to the capital of Almyra. Their eventual visit might make her explode in joy from the sheer artistry of, well… everything.

Shops along this wide avenue sold goods imported from all over the world: spice and tea companies, as well as purveyors of the brightest, finest fabrics money could buy. Boutique shops sold fine jewelry of all kinds.

Along with imported goods came a mix of cultures and cuisines that was like nowhere else in Fódlan. Bakeries and restaurants of all types were tucked among the neighborhoods, colorful signs and flags hung from nearly every building--some was art for artistry’s sake, others were a proclamation of a culture left behind, only to be remade on this new shore.

Surely, Derdriu rivaled the most worldly port cities in Almyra.

Khalid was very proud of this heritage.

After all, it was his.

Warm notes of half a dozen spices and caramelized sugar tickled his nose. Fond childhood memories began to rise to the top of his mind, but his wife’s voice interrupted.

“Something smells… good,” she turned to him with a wild, ravenous look in her eyes. “ _Please_ tell me we can sample some of the cuisine while we’re here.”

She made the request as if she were _not_ the Queen of Fódlan, able to have anything she desired with a snap of her fingers. Adorable. Byleth was not a spoiled ruler, and during the months they’d worked together, he’d repeatedly watched as she put the desires of her people first. It was only one reason why he loved her. Khalid laughed goodnaturedly.

“Anything your heart desires,” he humored, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Her brief smile was so bright that for an instant her beauty rivaled the sun. He would gladly risk blinding himself to bask in her joy.

They passed through another gate. Once they left the main hub of the shopping district, the streets branched and narrowed like veins spreading from the heart, twisting and turning, following the curve of the earth.

“Oh, the buildings are different on this side.”

Despite the opulent estates and lavish department stores that had sprung up around them, she sounded disappointed. However, it didn’t stop her gawking.

“What, you don’t like flashy shows of wealth?” Khalid teased, and was rewarded with a cute pout. “I can’t disagree,” he continued. “This part of the city feels less… intriguing. When I was small, I’d sneak downtown any chance I got.”

“I probably would’ve, too.”

The hustle and bustle of small shops and their busy citizens was absent this side of the wall. The restaurants and bakeries reflected a more noble image to attract a more refined clientele, and as beautiful and warm as they appeared, but it was impossible to ignore the grand manor houses that looked like small castles, some stacked stories high between ornate apartment buildings and more “modest” manor houses.

These high stone and stucco castle walls were adorned with murals, some painted, others with mosaic. Of course, the stag of the Alliance was a common motif around the city, and often the horns of the great and noble beast were a unifying sigil, tucked among the emblems and crests of each house of power.

Byleth frowned at a gaudy mural of larger-than-life red roses in full bloom, subtly overlaid with a familiar crest.

“...Gloucester?” she guessed.

 _Lorenz_.

The realization made his chest clench.

“He was the most frustratingly wonderful person I’ve ever met,” Khalid said of his deceased friend and ally.

What had become of the merchant and noble households of Leicester after their young heirs had perished in a war _he’d_ led them into? Khalid had done his best to make accommodations for all outcomes of war, but he hadn’t expected anyone to throw their lives away, and in the end he’d been most focused on his own survival and subsequent, shameful return to Almyra.

Yet, he’d squandered that, too.

Byleth’s fingertips brushed the back of his hand, shaking him from introspection. As he met her eyes, warm and understanding, her fingers folded between his neatly. That small gesture of comfort was enough to bring him back to the present. As they continued the winding journey around the palatial neighborhood, he continued to talk about the Alliance families. Byleth gave him her full attention, and they bonded over memories of those they once knew.

They turned a familiar corner, and his need to fill the air with conversation dissipated. “Ah.”

Byleth followed his line of sight and guessed confidently, “We’re here.”

“We’re here,” he confirmed. He held his breath as they turned again, with the front gates of the manor in plain sight.

Outwardly it was a simple graystone chateau, stacked stories higher than any other around it. Grates of twisted iron bars, decorative _and_ protective, covered the wide windows on the lower floors.

Plain but sturdy broad oaken doors were the same as he remembered, adorned with creaking gently under their own weight as they opened to take the carriage inside. It appeared as if they’d been recently shellacked to bring out the sheen of the wood.

Onwards rolled the carriage, into darkness. Thick walls drowned out the gentle bustle of the city.

Moments later they emerged into the bright and lively courtyard. Bountiful clouds of flowers hung low against the perimeter, brightly welcoming all to the Riegan manor.

The palms Leonie had suggested he plant had grown large in the time he’d been away, and the overlapping canopy left them with an extra chill on this seasonably cold summer’s day.

 _Sounds funny, but Wyvern moon is the hottest time of year_ , Leonie explained. _You’ll want the shade._

“I’m surprised to see the place hasn’t changed much.” A cold, sick feeling ate at him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Gravel popped and crackled underwheel as the carriage curled around the courtyard.

“You left it in fine shape. It was natural to continue using it as a center of power in Derdriu.” Byleth pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, mouth creasing in a frown. He unconsciously mirrored the expression.

Indeed, the Riegan manor--a modest version of the sprawling estate on Riegan territory--was just as he remembered it, almost entirely unchanged after five years. No, it was certainly in better shape than _he'd_ left it. It was his role to be more concerned with keeping the Alliance from imploding and war from crushing all of their dreams, than with historical preservation projects.

“...Back to work,” Byleth sighed, interrupting his musings. She pecked the corner of his mouth in a sweet, sad kiss.

He pressed his lips into a thin smile. “Ah yes, _that_.”

So their interlude concluded. Khalid felt as empty as their tired carriage.

Her heeled boots crunched gravel underfoot. His followed.

“I’d like a pot of ginger tea sent to the room, please. With lemon and a dollop of honey,” was the first order Byleth issued.

She really did consider him at all times.

A crowd of her highest level staff formed an impressive barrier around her, flagging her with questions about their stay and the multitude of obligations that lay ahead of them this week.

Khalid saw opportunity in being ignored and stepped back to absorb the scene.

“Yes, thank you for addressing that on our behalf. I’m sure my Advisor will have requests of his own, but in the meantime…”

He recognized none of the staff occupying his former manor, but Byleth's--their--staff mingled easily with those who worked here. By snippets of conversation, many seemed to be familiar with one another from Byleth’s post-war Garreg Mach.

Wandering eyes led him to the sculptural detail above the manor doors. The crest of Riegan was carved into the stone, flanked by florals that grew in Riegan territory. He’d seen it a hundred times or more but had he ever stopped to _look_ at it?

Strange to think this house had once been his. For a time it had been full of friends and merriment, despite the weight of the impending war.

Khalid swore he saw them, mingling within the crowd.

There was Lysithea sneaking about with a napkin of sweets stolen from the kitchen. Lorenz and Leonie bickering about something stupidly trivial in front of the fountain. He spotted the nook Ignatz often hid in to covertly sketch everyone.

A memory of Ralph listening attentively as Marianne explained what the birds here thought about their sudden arrival. There was Hilda, sweetly twisting the ear of the manor’s housekeeper to squirrel away extra rations for the war effort.

Cold nights had often been spent around the firepit with Lorenz, hot drinks in hand, trying to find the right strategy to ensure their survival, together. It wouldn’t be long before everyone gathered round to offer their own insights.

An impression of laughter and warmth filled the space, yet his heart felt like it was going to implode like a distant star--

“Claude…?”

After being alone with her in their carriage for days on end, being called by his other name again felt like cold water being thrown in his face. But his wife-- _his wife_!--strode toward him with an amount of warmth and vivacity he never would have expected from the stony-faced mercenary he’d met in Remire Village so many years ago.

“Let’s refresh ourselves before dinner this evening,” she said. Despite the weariness in her eyes, her tone was bright. Her hand, strong and small, slipped naturally into his. “I’ve been told the Duke’s quarters are outfitted with a fantastic bath. Is that true?”

“Mmhm,” he managed.

She squeezed his hand, observing him expectantly. Khalid pasted the facsimile of a smile on his face. It would certainly do for now.

Just short of entering the manor she tugged him to stop. “ _Hey_. What’s troubling you?”

Despite the rush of activity around them, he could _feel_ her focus. As much as he wanted to seal away his emotions, she’d learned to read him like a child’s picture book. There was no dodging her.

“Feeling sentimental,” he admitted.

Byleth tenderly kissed his chin, her lips soft against his stubble. “If you ever want to talk,” she said quietly, searching his face. Understanding shone in her eyes. Despite the bitter regret he found himself steeped in, he was grateful.

Khalid squeezed her hand back. Together, they entered the grand hall.

“By the Goddess,” she said under her breath, her eyes turned upward to the scene playing out on the domed ceiling overhead.

Deer and wyverns and wolves and lions played throughout the changing seasons, laid out in exquisite detail. A stag-like dragon took center stage, watching serenely over his domain despite the sweep of time.

By the way she stared at the colorful, intricate artwork that arched overhead--she was gawking, really--Khalid realized that this was her first time at the Riegan manor. Curious.

“Oh, this _tilework_ ,” Byleth cooed to herself, outlining the expertly curved, tiled motif underfoot with the toe of her boot. “This certainly puts Garreg Mach to shame.”

 _A lot of things put Garreg Mach to shame._ Another callous thought reared its head, tails unfurling. He had no reason or wish to be snide but that _something_ from before was testing him.

“Mmm. It made for a good stronghold during the war,” he answered plainly, not wishing to address the conflicting feelings his mind thrust upon itself. “Well, up we go.”

He didn’t miss the quizzical look in her eye as he pushed through the crowd to lead. The grand staircase beckoned them to explore.

While he found himself mired in memories, Byleth was mesmerized with the art and architectural details he’d taken for granted.

“You’ve _really_ never been here before.”

“No, never.”

“...Yet you made sure the manor stood.”

A pause.

“...That’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she followed, confusion lacing itself tightly into each syllable. “You specifically left the estate to _Byleth Eisner_ , not the succeeding ruler of Fódlan.”

It took a moment, but Khalid remembered penning that letter. It’d been one of countless contingency plans he’d laid out before Gronder, to be sent according to very specific criteria in case things did not go well.

Things had not gone well.

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

Khalid cocked a brow at her, intent and serious in this moment, and did what any good husband might do before delivering a cutting blow.

He decided to let her sweat, _just_ a little.

“...Claude?”

“Simple,” he began, offering a cunning yet gracious smile, “I trusted that _you_ would be the one to unite Fódlan, Byleth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stop in the seaside port town is the last leg of their Tour of Fódlan, and the beginning of the Derdriu Arc--their official honeymoon. Please look forward to worldbuilding, softness and smut for the next handful of chapters as they put in the work to cement their bond.
> 
> I look forward to your comments! :)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about after I finished Silver Snow/Church route (my third FE3H play through) and lost almost everyone because I'm an idiot who forgot how this game works. I decided to go with it once I realized I messed up, for maximum drama. 
> 
> I had six units left for the final battle. Four survived. Of course they had their own agendas after the war. This made it EXTRA TRAGIC when thinking about the new world Byleth had to create on all their own. 
> 
> *Kassim is a name Claude chose for himself when he went into hiding. It means "to be separated" in Arabic. An emo boi.  
> * Story & chapter titles are Lapsley lyrics because her music is so bittersweet
> 
> Explicit rating for future shenanigans. 
> 
> Please follow me on twitter if you'd like to chat! I make sweet and spicy FE3H art and post dumb FE thoughts, 18+ only please! @btwnskyandsea


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